Lost and Found
by A Damned Scientist
Summary: For 7 years, John has been stranded on Earth. He's lost his mind, but is he alone? Sequel to Picture in The Paper.
1. Chapter 1

After my first fanfic, the Picture in The Paper, I got feedback from a number of people asking for it to be made longer and more detailed. I didn't want to rewrite it, so I started to think about continuing it. This is Chapter 1 of that continuation.

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, just for fun (!?), please don't sue as my kids claim they need any money I might have.

RATING, SPOILERS and SETTING: AU, spoilers up to PKW (in later chapters). Setting is 7 years post season 4, the assumption being that John stayed on Earth after TF. Follows on from the Picture in The Paper: You probably don't need to read that first, but it might make (more) sense if you did. Previously posted on TF.

No sex, no violence, but mental illness, grimness and angst, so PG rating. Further chapters may or may not have sex and violence in them, if they do, I'll revisit this rating. They might even get more cheerful, but I make no promises on that (I Have an end in mind, I just havent decided how grim vs happy to write it).

**Lost and Found: Chapter 1**

Dr Ellen Kaminsky's office was brightly lit, cheerful and spacious, but, as John sat there with his psychiatrist and Caroline, his wife, his world was dark and closed. He sat impassively, not much more than an observer to his own life, whilst the two women talked.

Once, when he was a child, John had dissected a golf ball, and had been surprised by the tightly knit, hard knot of rubber bands within. He found himself comparing the inside of that ball to how he felt now. Tightly wound, hard, ready to come apart completely if only he knew how. In his mind everything was broken, everything was frelled. His heart and soul was in a dark place and he could see no way to get anywhere else, anywhere less grim. There could be party streamers decorating the room, happy music playing and a clown in the corner, it would make no difference to John. Despair was a fiend that held him by the throat and was squeezing: It was only the tightness of the demon's grip that stopped his tears from flowing.

Caroline was talking to the psychiatrist, who barely seemed to respond beyond taking the occasional note.

'…..he's been getting steadily worse for the last year. But since last week….. I've hardly been able to get anything out of him, get him to respond to anything….. He came home late and just sat up all night clutching a stupid newspaper…… I've barely been able to get him to respond to anything since….. I can't cope with him anymore… It's too much for our daughter…. It's too much for both of us….. I'm leaving him….The government owes us…..'

John listened to the words, part of his mind understood where they were leading, what this meant, but he struggled to find a part of him that cared, much less a part which had the strength to do anything about it. It barely seemed like they talking about him. It didn't even seem like they were talking in the same room. He was at one end of a long, dark, funnel of despair and their words were being overheard, amplified and transmitted down that funnel. Eventually, Caroline stood up, walked over to him and, with tears in her eyes, knelt beside him. She took his hand in hers and kissed it gently, before, with a brief, desperate smile, she managed to say 'Goodbye John.' She stood and strode out of the office. As the door shut behind her he could hear her beginning to cry loudly on the other side. John sat there, silent and still. Part of him tried to care, to act, but when it came down to it, he couldn't seem to summon the will to feel or to do anything.

Dr Kaminsky sighed. It was always difficult to see a patient in a state such as this, and especially a man who had once been so much more, so strong inside. But that was before the Farscape mission, and before his subsequent return to Earth, apparently a victim of unknown alien tortures.

Kaminsky called her assistant to arrange for Crichton to be taken to a secure ward down on the thirteenth floor. She'd been hoping against this day ever since she had been assigned to the Crichton case, and that had been a long time, over seven years ago, before the one-time astronaut had even set foot back on Earth. She looked across to where he now sat, motionless and silent, and shook her head. He was one of her two most interesting cases, of course, but it was frustrating to see him decline like this. And it was not as though she could further her professional reputation by discussing either him, or her other inpatient, for that matter, with her peers. But she had known, when she had accepted this job, that secrecy was the price she would pay for dealing with such unique and interesting cases.

It was unfortunate that Caroline had decided that she could take no more and would leave Crichton: She and then their child had been so instrumental in keeping him sane, or at least functional. for so long. But Kaminsky could not really blame the woman, especially knowing all that she, Kaminsky, knew: In many ways, it was astonishing that Caroline had stuck by him for so long. Kaminsky felt sure that she herself could not have found it in her to do so.

There was a knock at the door: It was the orderlies, come to take Crichton away. Kaminsky stood to give them brief instructions about Crichton: Not that they needed telling, of course; this wasn't the sort of facility that used casual staff: all the medical and paramedical staff here knew who Crichton was and were used to dealing with him. Once they had led Crichton away, she returned to her desk and sat down with a resigned sigh. Reluctantly, because she knew it would not be an easy conversation, she picked up her phone and dialled on a secure line.

'Mr Holt? Can you talk freely? This is Dr Kaminsky. I'm afraid there has been a development, an unfavourable development, with the principal case……. Yes, I know the timing is appalling…….. I am well aware of the what is happening elsewhere, but since when has his timing been good?'

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Years Earlier:

Almost before the dust had settled, the Secret Service were crawling all over the remains of Jack Crichton's house, asking questions, poking guns into dark corners and muttering darker words into their radios. Jack sat trying to comfort and calm Olivia on the remains of one couch, whilst John and Aeryn sat on another, in an agitated, but largely one-sided, conversation.

'….you said the wormhole will be at peak stability for about another 48 arns,' Aeryn whispered to John earnestly and urgently in Sebacean, determined that as few people as possible should have any opportunity to overhear or understand her. 'With D'Argo and Chiana back up on Moya, that leaves just us down here. We have to go.'

John's thought's on the matter, however, seemed far from clear to Aeryn: He mumbled something non-commitally to her as an agent came and stood before them.

'Commander, ma'am, we've been asked to escort you to a secure facility for debriefing,' the agent said brusquely.

Aeryn met the man's blank gaze with her own icy stare. She refused to be ordered around, far less intimidated, by some glorified policeman. John's thoughts, irritatingly, seemed to be elsewhere, forcing her to continue to take the lead in this difficult and alien situation. Frell him and his stubborn moods, she thought. Of all the times to go silent and withdraw into himself.

'Are we going to the IASA base? We need to check on our ships,' Aeryn demanded to know of the agent.

'I'm not at liberty to say, ma'am.' Aeryn frowned. She was not at all happy with these humans' obsession with keeping her in ignorance all the time. Especially now, with all that had happened this evening with the Skreeth. With all that had not happened between her and John before the Skreeth. Aeryn was in no mood to play stupid human mind games.

'We need to check on our ships. You will take us to the IASA base,' she said flatly, developing her expression into with one of her I'm-a PK-commando, don't-mess-with-me glares. The agent was made of stern stuff, and was not easily influenced, but he did seem to soften a little in his demeanour.

'I'm sure that will be part of the schedule. Please…' he held out his hand to her in a gesture that she should come with him now. Let's get this over with quickly and then get to the Prowler, she decided. None too gently, Aeryn elbowed Crichton in the ribs.

'Come on Crichton, your disruptors want to ask us some questions.' Aeryn ignored the agent's offered hand and stood up, brushing down her coat, whilst Crichton grunted and stood a moment later, his distracted movements and frown betraying that he was still preoccupied with other things. As they were led from the room, Aeryn briefly caught Olivia's eye and flashed her a supporting smile and nod, which Olivia gratefully returned. Outside, through the shattered window, Aeryn thought she saw Olivia kneel beside the Christmas tree and palm a small package before the agents hustled her into a waiting, black SUV.

Jack Crichton sighed and shook his head, before taking a sip from the coffee which Dr Kaminsky's assistant had brought for him. He had just spent a long and largely fruitless hour with his son, down in John's bedroom on the 13th floor. John had not said a word, had barely responded at all to Jack's presence. The only time he had shown any reaction was when Jack had brought out pictures from the alien technology projects IASA was overseeing. John had flicked through some, before settling on two pictures, one of part of a hetch drive, the other of part of a pulse pistol. John had stared at them for some time, occasionally touching the photos with his fingers, and, eventually, a tear trickled down one of his cheeks. He didn't say a word.

'I agree, I've never seen him this bad before,' Jack agreed sadly. 'I can barely tell if the John I knew is in there at all.'

Kaminsky nodded, 'We we're hoping that he might open up a little to you, being his father…'

'I doubt it,' Jack interrupted, shaking his head ' Ever since he got back, he's not felt able to talk to me. You know I believe some terrible things happened to him in those years he was away: He's never been able to talk to me, or any of his family, about it.'

Kaminsky made a note in her records and nodded in agreement 'We've never really been able to get him to open up about what really happened to him in those years either. It's always been a concern.'

'For those first few months he seemed stable enough, you know. Although there were whole sections of his story that he wouldn't elaborate on, but he seemed sane enough. Looking back, I think it was after Moya and the aliens left that he first started to slide. Caroline held it back for a while, she was good for him, gave him something to live for, but she's told me he never opened up about those years to her either. I think he bottled it all up. And not having anyone he felt he could talk to, who had shared those experiences, who understood. I think that's what got to him in the end.'

Kaminsky made another note in her book.

Aeryn was becoming increasingly agitated. They had spent hours sequestered in the soul-less, unfamiliar, secure building that the Secret Service people had taken them to. It was not on the IASA base, and seemed to be staffed solely by disruptors in dark suits, most of whom Aeryn did not recognize. For many of those hours she had been left alone, in a small, bland meeting room, her discomfort and unease growing steadily. At the very best it was a frustrating waste of time: They had only briefly questioned her about the Skreeth, but then, it hadn't taken her long to tell them everything she knew about it.

Aeryn was bored, tired, but mostly, she was growing angry. She wasn't sure who to be most angry with, John or Holt and his people. Now it was the early hours of Christmas morning, and she had learnt enough of John's culture to know that very little work got done on Christmas day. Keeping them here all night seemed pointless. She wanted to get cleaned up, she wanted to eat, to sleep, to talk to John and to get in her Prowler and fly back to Moya. Not necessarily in that order. She wanted done with Erp and with annoying, time-wasting Erplings.

At long last, a man in a black suit entered her room and indicated to her that she should follow. They didn't speak as he led her the short distance down two short, featureless corridors to another room. Going inside, she saw John, sitting on a black, angular couch. He gestured for her to sit on a second couch, opposite his: Apart from a low table between the couches, it was the only other furniture in the room.

She didn't sit, but glared at him, arms crossed, 'What the frell has been taking so long, John? Your people have had me shut up in a room on my own for arns - I am tired, I am worried, I am still picking debris out of my clothes and hair and I want to get back to Moya….'

He interrupted her, bluntly and, to Aeryn's mind, with little concern for her feelings, although she had grown used to that from him in recent monens.

'I've decided to stay on Earth: They need me here, the attack made that clear to me. They're not prepared, and they need to be. There's so much I still need to tell them,' he said in flat manner which would have more befitted that of a stranger discussing the weather than a former lover discussing their life plans.

'And do you expect me to stay here with you, here on Erp?' Aeryn snorted in disbelief.

'Do what you like, Aeryn,' he replied in an offhand manner. Aeryn didn't know whether to cry, scream or punch him in the face on the spot. After all they had been through, how could he be so blasé about something that would strand both of them on Earth, or could mean them separating forever?

'Frell you, Crichton,' she spat, opting merely to slap his cheek, barely hard enough to leave a mark. He looked a little surprised, but then quickly regained his blank expression. She span on her heel and marched defiantly from the room, banging shoulders with the disruptor who had brought her, and who had been too slow to move out of her way. At that moment she didn't know whether she would stay on Earth or go, but she did know that if she stayed in the same room with John right now she would do something far worse than swear at him.

Aeryn marched back to her room, her escort tagging along behind her muttering into his wrist radio. Aeryn made no attempt to hear what he was saying: She was too angry with humans right now to care about their stupid plans. When she reached her room, she flung herself down on the couch and exhaled deeply. She couldn't believe John, her John, was being like this. She knew things were bad between them right now, but this? Did nothing they had shared, nothing they might yet share, if only he would allow it, nothing they had done and had been done to them over the last four cycles mean anything to him anymore? She brushed away a tear from each cheek with the back of her hand as a second agent entered the room, carrying a tray.

'I've brought you some coffee, ma'am, and some sandwiches. The agent in charge told me it could be a long night, and that you might be in need of something to eat or drink.' The newcomer set the tray down on a low table in front of her and smiled at her. She briefly returned his smile. Stupid frelling, deficient humans! she seethed. She patted the pockets of her coat until she found her comms badge, which she laid on the table beside the tray. She'd just have a quick sandwich and a coffee to ease her hunger pangs and sharpen her thoughts before she called Pilot.

John Crichton sat on the bed in his room, his cell, his asylum, absently staring out the window at the rainy cityscape. Nice place for a government clinic, part of his mind thought. And it was a good view from up here, on the thriteenth floor. Not that Crichton cared, really. Two weeks ago his wife had left him and had had him committed on the same day, and he hadn't cared much about either of those things. What was a rainy view, compared to that? Besides, it could never compare to the view from the Terrace on Moya.

There was a knock at the door. He ignored it. He wasn't expecting anyone for a few arns…. Hours, he corrected himself, and he didn't much care about any of the visits he was likely to have , be they his lunch, his doctor, his father or anyone else that he could imagine. The door opened anyway, and he sensed someone, a woman from their breathing and footsteps, walk into the room. A nurse? Dr Kaminsky? Maybe it was one of his sisters, as they had brought his dad to see him for the last three days, maybe his sisters were next? He didn't really care. None of them could change the misery his world had become. None of them could understand. None of them could set him free.

John shifted the focus of his eyes onto the rain running down the window, bringing into view the reflection of the woman who now stood, silent and immobile. half way between him and the door. She was slim, quite tall, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with long dark hair: she didn't resemble any of the medical staff he knew or his sisters, or Caroline. He frowned: something about her reminded him of someone.

He turned his head and he felt as though his heart had missed a beat.

'Aeryn!' he breathed in disbelief, before the dark knot of despair tightened around his chest. Then he turned back to the window and hardened his heart. 'Go away. You're not real.' It was the most he had spoken in one go since his committal.

Reflected in the window he saw the woman scowl and flick her hair back behind her shoulders. She picked up the chair from his table and carried it slowly and purposefully across to the window, before sitting, stiffly, in front of him. She reached out a hand as if to touch him, before pulling it back sharply. He did not look at her: His gaze remained locked on some random, distant cloud. Then came a familiar voice.

'They told me you were not well…. Is it Scorpius' neural clone?' The vision sounded like Aeryn. Either his ravings were getting more realistic, or her voice, as well as her appearance, was remarkably like his long-departed lover. Part of his mind registered that he was imagining her speaking in English, and with much more proficiency than he remembered from seven years ago.

'This isn't the first time I've imagined you, you know?' was all he said in reply. He turned to look at her. Yes, his delusions were getting really good: she looked so like Aeryn. However, her face was much more drawn and sad than he remembered, as though she had suffered years of troubles since they had last met. His fantasies were getting so much more complicated to include such details, he almost laughed to himself. 'But it doesn't matter, you left, years ago.' He turned back to look at the rain.

'They really told you that, didn't they?' she sighed. 'Did you not think that Holt might have lied to you? I could not leave, Crichton: They took me prisoner and tricked the others into thinking I chose to stay here. Seven years I've been a frelling prisoner here, Crichton. Seven years. On this planet full of deficients' He turned slightly to watch as the imaginary Aeryn stood and paced the room, as though struggling with her words and emotions. She stopped by the door and turned back to face him. 'Seven frelling years, John!' She repeated, wiping away a tear from her right cheek. 'They tell me you are now too unhappy to talk: Fine: You think you have had a bad time, wallowing in your self-pity? I have had your doctors and scientists and disruptors all over me, I have had them interrogating me in shifts. I have had……'

'I'm sorry, Aeryn, I just can't deal with this now…'

She strode quickly back to him and slapped his face, gently by her past standards. The slap certainly felt real, and, if she really had been Holt's prisoner for so long, he deserved that and more for dismissing her so brusquely, for being so selfish, but still he did not respond. She was not real, he knew: Even if she were really still on Earth, he could not think why they would suddenly let them see each other. Yes, she must just be in his imagination. Even in his depressed state, he knew it made no sense for her to be here, now, in this room.

'Well you have to!' she replied angrily. 'Why do you think, after seven years, they are letting you see me, letting you know I am here?' she voiced his unspoken question. I wonder what the shrinks would say about that, he almost smiled to himself. Johnny, your delusions are just getting better and better!

'They're not. You're not real.' he asserted. Before he even finished speaking she placed both her hands on his shoulders and pushed him roughly back against the window, exasperation pouring from her, driving her to communicate in the way she felt most comfortable, through actions rather than words. With scarcely a pause, she leant across him, surrounding his head in the near-forgotten halo of her raven hair as she briefly and fiercely forced her lips to his.

She stood up immediately and slumped back into the chair. Pushing the hair back from her face she demanded of him 'What does that taste like? Was that real enough for you, you deficient fekkik?'

Crichton sat up, looking at her more carefully, confused now, and, for the first time in months, able to see a glimmer of light through the shadow of his depression. He frowned, trying to make sense of his conflicting thoughts. She couldn't be real. It made no sense. But she felt real, she smelt real. Damn it, she tasted real.

'But you left - you stormed out and went back to Moya, on Christmas eve, after the Skreeth attack,' he said quietly. By God she looked tired, he thought. Could it be true? Could it really be Aeryn here in this room, and not just here in his mind? That part of him that could still think things through truly hoped not, for her sake.

'I never got out of the building that night. I never got back to Moya,' she said quietly, her whole body slumped, so different from the stiff, controlled way she used to hold herself. 'Holt had a plan in place to keep as much as he could, and it worked. That last time we met was the last time I was free.'

John reached out, lifted her hand slightly from where is rested on her knee, and laced his fingers with hers. She certainly felt real. Part of him wanted so much to say he was sorry, but the words just would not come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lost and Found: Chapter 2**

Thanks everyone for feedback, with special thanks to Ixchup and LyraStorm: It is all (I hope) helping me to produce a slightly better story going forwards, if not in this chapter, then in a future one.

,

Earth. Terra Firma. Seems like forever it's filled his thoughts and been his goal. And now: He's here, and he has said he wants to stay. So where does that leave me? He once said he'd never leave me, that I'd never be alone - I think I might have forfeited the right to that promise a cycle ago when I left him to try to forget him – to try to forget the pain of losing the other John.

For so long Earth has filled his dreams. And filled my nightmares. And, although my worst nightmare of all, that his people might put me in a cage, experiment on me, or murder me, now seems to have been a figment of his imagination, how can I strand myself here, on this primitive planet? Strand myself amongst strangers with a man who now seems to see me, despite what his family and Caroline have told me, as barely a shipmate, as less than a friend? If I choose to stay, I'll likely be stuck here for ever. At best I will be 'the alien', little more than an exhibit. And perhaps I will even have to endure all this without having John? To be alone on this planet, always reminded of what I could not have. But if I choose to leave, on Moya, then surely that will be the end for all my hopes for us, for the baby?

Time is not my friend: I must choose now, and I must live with that choice. I am a soldier, I am used to making choices and living with consequences, no matter what. There is a coin on the table beside my comms badge: Should I put myself in the hands of Fate once again? Toss the coin......?

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D'Argo paced around the command of Moya. He was growing increasingly irritated with Crichton's delay in returning to Moya, or even in speaking to his shipmates. It had been several arns since the Skreeth attack, whilst the time until the wormhole reached optimum stability was fast draining away. He knew that John knew that Moya was scared of wormholes: She deserved to make this trip at the best possible moment yet, as so often before, John was being selfish. D'Argo snarled angrily in frustration and slammed his hands down onto a control panel, causing a DRD to scurry from command.

'Captain?' Pilot's calm voice came over the clamshell.

'Yes,' snapped D'Argo.

'I have Commander Crichton for you on the comm…'

'D'Argo…' began John.

'John, when are you going to get up here?' D'Argo barked, gripping the command console firmly with both hands and staring ahead, through the view portal, at the small blue-green planet which had caused them all so much trouble.

'Umm… I'm not, my friend. Not coming back.' D'Argo snarled and shouted in disbelief, most of his words not processed by the translator microbes, before subsiding enough for John to continue.

'This… is Earth…. home: The thing I've been looking for for four years.'

'One of the things,' D'Argo reminded him. John refused to be drawn for now on the subject of any of those other things.

'I understand that. But they need me here, now to help them prepare, to help me protect themselves from the lions and the tigers and the Scarrans and all. All the bad things out there. They need someone who can help them prepare, and to remind them why they have to prepare.'

'They've got enough time and advice already. Maybe you don't need to stay.' It was a statement more than a question.

'Maybe, maybe not. But, if I leave now, I may never get another chance to come back to Earth. I love you guys, you're my family, but this is my planet… my people.'

'And Aeryn?' D'Argo asked. Further words were not needed to explain what he meant by that remark.

'From where I stand, there's been nothing between us for two cycles. And there's never really been that much, not ever. Not for this John Crichton, anyhow.'

'She loves you, my friend…'

'That's not enough, and I don't have to tell you why. I have, as Rygel once advised me, taken the hint. I have to be realistic, do what I have to do: She can do what she wants, like she always does.'

D'Argo sighed. He knew exactly what John was talking about: Had he not himself advised John to be careful about giving his heart to Aeryn once again? 'If you are going to do this, then you at least ought to try to make peace with her. This is no way for you two to end things.'

Crichton snorted: 'Ball's been in her court for cycles now. It's up to her,' he replied bluntly. 'Besides, she's safer without me: It's me that everyone in the UTs wants a piece of, and without me around, there'll be no-one gunning for her in order to get to me.'

D'Argo could see some sense in what his friend was saying, but still, he wasn't happy: 'Oh, my friend, I hope you know what you're doing?'

'I do, I've been thinking it through ever since we got here: My people get me to help them prepare and I'll be free of Scorpius, Grayza and all the rest of them. If Aeryn stays, then she's free of them all too: If she goes, she's free of everyone chasing after her to get to me. Either way, everyone wins.'

'You should have said something earlier.'

'What difference would it make? Look, you just need to follow Scorpy's signal through to the other side of the wormhole, that'll get you back to the Uts. You don't need me for that.' D'Argo sighed in resignation. John's mind seemed made up, and he couldn't really say he blamed him. Both he and Rygel had been advising John against revisiting old, lost causes with Aeryn for long enough. 'Hey, don't tell Scorpy that I'm not coming. Without me, and with no beacon to follow back here, anyone that comes down the wormhole looking for me could end up anywhere, but most likely not here. Earth'll be safe as houses.'

'You know Scorpius, you know he wont give up?' Asked D'Argo, ignoring the incomprehensible Earth-saying. 'You know how obsessed he is with you, with wormholes? He won't just let you go…'

'He'll have no choice: He's got no power with the Peacekeepers anymore, or with anyone else. What can he do, with me here and him over there, with the PKs and the Scarrans both chasing his arse?'

D'Argo shook his head and took a deep breath out. Earth. That, and, until recently, Aeryn, was what his friend had been striving to have for these last three and a half years. It hurt, but he could not deny his friend this chance to go home. 'I'm going to miss you… '

'And me you. And Chi and Pilot, and even Sparky. You let them all know that.' There was a long silence. 'Look, I have to go now, Holt's people want to talk. we've got lots of details to sort out.'

'I'll call you again before we go…'

'You do that, but get Pilot to check the comms are secure first, Scorpy might be monitoring them. And remember: Don't let him know I plan on staying until you're through the wormhole, or there's no knowing what he'll do.'

John's comm snapped off, but D'Argo did not mind as he now urgently needed to speak to Aeryn.

It was Aeryn's third visit to John at the clinic. Or the third visit of the apparition of Aeryn, John still hadn't entirely decided which. Mostly, they had just sat together in silence. She had never been a big conversationalist, and now he wasn't either. She had told him a little, in short, painful bursts, about how she had been treated over the years and what her captors had done to her. With each little tale of terror, pain, indignity or just plain boredom, John had found a few more words to say in reply.

In many ways her stories seemed to affect him more than they did her: She had clearly been ground down by all that had been done to her, but she had not been broken, not in the way he had been over the intervening cycles. Even after all these years, it never ceased to amaze John as to how strong she was.

In his reflection in the window, John could see a tear running down his cheek, much like the rain running on the window… and much like the tear from Aeryn that fateful Christmas eve at his father's house, before the Skreeth had attacked. She never used to cry, not before she had come back from the assassins.…. Come back to see him one last time before dying. And then he had rejected her. What must she have been through in her time away from Moya, amongst the assassins, to have changed so much? She had never told him, and that had been part of their problem, all those cycles ago. At least, it had been to start with, before his need to protect her and the baby had started to supplant his anger. But beyond even that, what had he caused her to go through these last few years? He was starting to find out, and it made him feel ashamed and guilty that he had in part caused it to happen. So far, wht she had told him was bad, but not as bad as his worst fears had been. After all, she was here, alive and apparently in reasonable health. That was, if she was real at all, of course. He still could not entirely accept that possibility.

John hardly noticed that, as the days went on his thoughts and emotions were more and more for someone other than himself.

The most surprising thing, to John, was how little actual physical harm had come to Aeryn. It seemed that someone had been protecting her from those who would have, for instance, dissected her, or done even worse. Even more surprisingly, that protector seemed to have been Holt. John was not surprised to learn that Holt was involved in Aeryn's kidnap and imprisonment: He seemed to have been in charge of all of the dealings with the Moyans, so he would have been perfectly placed to be Aeryn's chief abductor. Aeryn speculated to John that, at first Holt had protected her simply because she was worth more to him alive than dead, but that later, other considerations had grown in importance. Seven years was a long time not to feel any empathy for another person, no matter how little he had felt to start with.

Aeryn was no longer talking about her imprisonment: 'They want you for something, John, and they need you, if not sane, at least functional.' John nodded, not wanting to interrupt her. She might just have been a figment of his imagination, but it was good to hear her voice, to see her again. He sat silently and drunk her in.

'Something has been happening for the last few weeks, I think it is connected with what they want you for.' Again, John remained silent. Aeryn took a deep breath and continued with, what, for her, constituted a major speech. 'I don't know what it is, but for nearly a cycle they have been bored with me and have asked hardly anything of me. Then, three weeks ago, they started again. Interrogating me all day, every day, asking me all sorts of things about Peacekeepers and Scarrans. And about you.'

'What have Scarrans or Peacekeepers got to do with me now?' John asked.

Aeryn smiled, ever so slightly. He speaks! For the first time in about quarter of an arn! She shrugged. 'Beyond the obvious, back when we were in the UTs? I don't know. But suppose I'm wrong? Maybe there is nothing going on. Does it matter? Come on, John, Fate has offered us something here. We have to seize it.' She reached over and clasped one of his hands in hers, a rare moment of physical contact in her visits. A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine at her cool touch, although it was tempered by realising that he could not remember the last time she had reached out to hold his hand.

'You have a chance, not me. It's been Game Over for me for years,' John said, slipping back into his shell slightly.

Aeryn frowned, looking almost angry. 'You have to beat this. Frell, you must have beaten every other sort of madness you humans can get. I know you are strong enough.' He looked unconvinced. She decided to try to convince him. 'It's only when you've been crazy that you've ever been strong enough to beat me in a fight…. Do you remember that time when Traaltix came aboard Moya? Or that time in the neural cluster?'

He nodded, but surprised her with his reply. 'You always came back from losing those fights, though, Aeryn. That's why I find it hard to believe they could keep you a prisoner for so long. Security isn't that tight here in the clinic. You could run now… if you were real.' John replied, his doubts about her reality leaching out of his mouth.

Aeryn looked pained at his words. She shuddered. After a long pause to compose herself, she replied. 'Where would I run to? I can't get off this frelling planet. Once Moya left, there wasn't anywhere for me to go, even if I found a way to get into space. And who here would help me, who could help me? Besides, they were very careful with me, far more so than your imagination made Cobb and the others on the False Earth.'

She was silent for another minute or two, and when it was clear he wasn't about to say anything, she continued. 'To start with, I tried, I thought about escaping every arn that I was awake, but there was never much hope.'

'Just run now, go to ground. I reckon the guards here couldn't stop you,' whispered John.

'I can't run, not now,' a rare tear had appeared on her right cheek. 'They know I won't. You see, a cycle and a half ago they found a perfect way to control me.'

'Aeryn?' D'Argo called into the comm. There was a silence, slightly longer than normal: Aeryn was doubtless pre-occupied, mused D'Argo. Perhaps John had spoken to her, shared his plans?

'D'Argo?' came the eventual reply, struggling to be heard over the sound of several humans speaking loudly and animatedly.

'Is everything alright? What's all the noise?'

'Sorry, D'Argo. Look, I can't speak for long: John's just told me he is staying on Earth....' Her voice sounded blank, even for her, and even over the background babble of the humans.

'I know… he told me about half an arn ago. I'm sorry.' D'Argo paused, and when Aeryn didn't fill his pause, he continued. 'Aeryn, you need to get up here now - we need to leave before the wormhole destabilises.' He was certain she would not stay on Earth: John was clearly not going to have her back, and, without that, why would she stay?

'I'm…. I'm not going. I'm staying here with John.' At the back of his mind, D'Argo realised that she seemed to be speaking English not Sebacean. He dismissed the detail as unimportant. She had been speaking English so much in the last few months in her futile attempts to win John back. 'I really think we can sort things out, get back together. We just need time.'

'Oh, Aeryn, my friend, are you sure that is wise…?' D'Argo shook his head, even though he knew she could not see him. 'I know how things have been between you two this last cycle and a half. I fear you'd be staying for nothing.'

'I have to stay…. I have my reasons. I… I can't talk about it right now. Everything will be fine,' She replied hurriedly, clearly not wanting to have a long conversation. Probably, thought D'Argo, because she didn't want to confront the truth that was so obvious to him.

'We'll talk again before we leave.' D'Argo whispered sadly. 'Be safe, Aeryn,'

'Goodbye, D'Argo.'

The female agent switched off Aeryn's comm badge, then the background tape of people talking, and turned to Holt with a nod and a smile.

'What now, sir,' she said with a grin, in a near -perfect imitation of Officer Sun's English speaking voice, before switching back to her own accent. 'I think he swallowed it.' Holt smiled smugly in reply. In a little less than 24 hours, it seemed he had secured the alien woman and her starfighter, he had John's module and he had John. And all those who might cause him any trouble were completely ignorant. It had been his best Christmas ever.

Aeryn awoke feeling like dren: 'Frell!' she muttered. She remembered the food and drink they had brought her, because it was the middle of the night and they were concerned about her, so they had said. They must have drugged it. Frell! She propped herself up on her elbows and looked around, warily. She was in a containment room, not too dissimilar from the one on the false Earth. Frell! They had tricked her, drugged her and now they were holding her prisoner. She seethed in anger at the humans, but also at herself for letting down her guard in her anger and confusion over John. She did not move or show any other outward sign of response as Holt and a small group people who she took to be agents and scientists appeared at the window to her cell.

'Officer Sun,' Holt began amiably. She wanted to rip his head off and spit down his neck. After a short period staring at him, she swung herself out of the cot on which she had been laying, marched up to the window, but then was forced to brace herself against the wall with one arm as her vision and balance swirled. 'I'm glad to see you're awake. No long term ill affects, I hope?'

'As if you care, you tch-waaark!' she snarled, reaching the limits of both her English and the translator microbes to describe what she wanted to say, desperately trying not to show the depths of how physically unsteady she felt.

'But of course I care, we all do.' Holt gestured to his knot of companions. 'Your continued well-being is immensely important to us, Officer Sun' replied Holt smoothly.

She unleashed a stream of invective at him in Sebacean, incomprehensible to the watching humans, despite their translator microbes. Yet Holt smiled back at her. It was a smug, victorious smile, and she hated him all the more so for it. 'We will have to work on your English vocabulary, though,' he commented dryly.

'Where are the others? Have you hurt any of them?' she demanded.

'Oh no, you misunderstand, Officer Sun: It's only you who we have as our guest here.'

'You can't expect to get away with this,' pleaded Aeryn, unconvinced by her own words. 'My shipmates won't……' her voice trailed off as Holt gave a sly smile.

'I'm sure you've worked out that your friends don't realise where you are: John thinks you left with the others, whilst our telemetary indicates Moya entered the wormhole three hours ago: You see your shipmates on Moya think you stayed here voluntarily, to be with John,' Holt replied, almost jovially. 'I had my doubts that they would believe that, as the two of you have spent so little time together here on Earth. But John seems to have no doubts that you left with your friends.'

Aeryn said nothing. She decided wasn't going to give this fekkik the pleasure, besides, what was there to say to that?

'Agent Smith here does a very convincing imitation of you,' Holt added, indicating a female accomplice in his group.

'Good afternoon, Officer Sun,' confirmed the woman behind Holt, in what sounded like Aeryn's voice.

After a few moments to digest his revelations, Aeryn swallowed and asked the question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to.

'What is it you want, Holt? Why did you do this? When have I not voluntarily told you or your people what you want?'

'We want you to help us, Officer Sun, in all sorts of ways. We want you to keep helping us, and you were about to leave, which would have ended that arrangement. And besides, there were things we could not ask of you under our previous arrangements. Now, well, we can explore new avenues.' Aeryn did not reply, but rather just stared at him blankly, not showing any emotion. Holt, finding Aeryn's lack of response unsettling, continued slightly less threateningly, 'You'll find we're not unreasonable or cruel: You give us what we want, and we can make your life quite comfortable. On the other hand…..'

Aeryn's composure broke at last, and she screamed in anger and punched the armoured window, so hard that she wondered if she might have broken a bone in her hand. She derived small satisfaction that a couple of the humans had seemed scared at her outburst, but she knew that, if she had hurt herself, it was too large a price to pay. She would need to keep herself calm if she was to escape this nightmare. At least he had not talked explicitly about cutting her open or experimenting on her. Yet. Then thoughts of Cobb and the False Earth rushed into her mind, combining with Holt's earlier words about 'exploring new avenues', and she slumped to the floor, feeling suddenly sick with fear.

John waited for Aeryn to continue with her story. But she seemed more than a little reluctant to do so. She had opened and closed her mouth a few times then her face had gone completely blank. It reminded him a little of the time, so many cycles ago, when they had been together in Moya's command and he had confronted her about the pregnancy. Then she had not known what to say or how to say it. Hell, if someone was frelling with his head, or even if he was himself just imagining her now, it was a clear, ready-made memory to plunder. Yeah, perhaps she wasn't real, then: Time to push a little, he decided.

'Oh yeah, and what would this perfect way of controlling the kick-ass, I-take-no-prisoners, PK-commando Officer Aeryn Sun be, then?' he couldn't help himself sneering, but as soon as he had spoken, he wished that he had not. If she was real, then she had already suffered so much on his account - what sort of man had he become to add to her obvious suffering with such hurtful words?

Aeryn went pale and looked down at her hands, which, John noticed, she was now wringing and clenching together. After a short while she lifted her head and looked him in the eye.

'They worked out how to release the pregnancy,' she whispered, still wringing her hands in her lap. 'John, we have a son.'


	3. Chapter 3

So, to chapter 3. Thanks once again for the feedback and great ideas: Where I haven't incorporated your ideas, it is simply because I have so much of the entire story already written that I couldn't work out how to put an idea in without throwing almost everything I have already written away. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the ride, regardless.

As this story goes on, it is getting increasingly non-linear. Hence I am putting in some more directions as to when a scene is set in order to reduce confusion. I'm sorry if you don't like these, but I hope they help some people follow the story.

**Lost and Found, Chapter 3**

Aeryn had to concede that the humans on the real Earth had given a lot more thought to how to hold her prisoner than had those on the false Earth. But then, the humans on the False Earth had been based only on the imaginations of John and the Ancient, Jack. Both of them were innocents compared to Holt and the agencies at his disposal. These real humans never let their guard down, never allowed themselves to be alone with her, never gave her even a chance to escape. And, true to Holt's word, as long as she had cooperated with them, they had not been cruel to her, even though they had not really been kind, either: certainly not to begin with, at least. Apart from the endless, sometimes painful, medical investigations, the boredom, the loneliness and the deprivation of not being able to shoot or fly or do almost anything by her own choice, Aeryn's life imprisoned on Earth almost compared favourably to her existence when she had been a Peacekeeper. She certainly doubted if she would be alive now had she stayed a Peacekeeper.

They had asked Aeryn about so many things: about the Moyans; about John, and their experiences together; about her own people and the details of Peacekeeper technology, intentions and strategy. They had asked endlessly about what she knew of other cultures and planets, even grilling her repeatedly as to what she thought of humans and Earth. Aeryn had answered similar-sounding questions time and again over days, weeks, and then months. She had been somewhat surprised as to how few actual interrogators she had met, but eventually she concluded that they were keeping her a secret, so the fewer people who knew about her the more likely the secret would be kept.

Eventually, Aeryn's throat grew so tired she felt as though she never wanted to speak again. Even though they had known she was just a Prowler pilot long before they had abducted her, many times Aeryn sensed, and sometimes even slightly suffered from, her captors' frustration that she was not something more important: She knew that they wished she was instead a tech or a diplomat or a disruptor or even a higher ranking PK officer. Regardless, she tried to answer most of their questions as best she could, and that gave her a little latitude, enough trust from them, to keep some secrets. She secretly treasured those small deceptions, more often for the victories themself than for the value of any information she withheld.

Aeryn was far from happy, but she coped. It was clear that at least one person in charge, most likely Holt, she eventually concluded, regarded her as too valuable to risk causing permanent harm to. As time had gone on, some of her captors even began to get to know her. More and more some of them showed her kindnesses and granted her privileges. And eventually, when they released the pregnancy, Aeryn found that her son gave new meaning to her life. She cherished the moments when her captors allowed her to spend time with him.

And then the questions started getting more serious again: After a just a few weekens of intense questions, one morning she was restrained, blindfolded and taken outside her prison. She was bundled into some sort of noisy, primitive aerial transport pod and, after about half an arn, unloaded again and escorted indoors. When they removed her blindfold, she found she was in an office, in some sort of tall building, which itself was evidently, from what she could see through the windows, located in a city.

And there, in the office, was Holt and a woman she knew as Kaminsky, who had been present through many of her interrogations and other tribulations over the years. Aeryn waited for them to tell her why she had been brought here. Holt indicated she should sit, so she did.

'Miss Sun,' began Kaminsky. 'Cast your mind back about nine years: After Commander Crichton began to go insane with the Peacekeeper neural chip, how did you help him to recover?'

'They worked out how to release the pregnancy about a year and a half ago,' continued Aeryn, barely in control of her own voice. John just sat, dumbstruck, as the meaning of her words washed over him. 'He has my black hair,' she smiled, 'And your eyes. He's beautiful.'

They had let her baby live and spend time with her, and had conducted no more medical investigations on the child than they had on her. It was more than she had dared hope for especially during her first years in captivity. She knew that she had had about seven cycles from conception for the foetus to be released. After that, it would be absorbed back by her body. And yet it had still been viable when they had released the stasis. That could mean only one thing: The foetus was most likely to have been conceived by her and the other John aboard Talyn. It had taken so many cycles, but at long last she knew for certain who the father was, that he was not the offspring of some Peacekeeper. But this John was fragile enough: she would leave any revelation about the most likely time of conception for another day.

And then another thought crept into Aeryn's head, unbidden, making her cheeks flush: Had it really been eight cycles since she had last recreated? By Cholak, she had some lost time to catch up on. But certainly not yet. She allowed herself a sad smile.

'Wh… what is he called?' John eventually managed to ask, mercifully breaking her train of thought.

'Oh, yes, name…..' Aeryn stammered, trying to regain her sense of the present. 'They insisted I give him a human name and, seeing as my experiences with humans on Erp haven't been so… good… Most of the human names I know, I wouldn't want to use. I called him Deke, after your friend. You remember, the one who died, that Christmas. I liked him, and he was your friend.'

Crichton swallowed hard. 'That's a nice name.' He whispered. Eventually he added. 'I'm so, so sorry Aeryn. If I'd have known, if I'd have know all of this would happen, I'd have done so much so differently.'

'You ruined my life,' she reminded him gently, with a hint of a smile.

He nodded, not able to return her smile. 'I should have made sure you were free on Earth, or safely back on Moya. But they told me you'd stormed out and gone back there, that you didn't want to speak to me. Then Moya left. I should never have trusted those bastards.'

She shrugged. 'No, you shouldn't have. But what is done cannot be changed now. It wasn't you who made me a prisoner. And it is good to see you again, John.'

'And you, Sunshine.'

There was a long silence before either of them spoke again. Eventually, Aeryn said, 'They told me that you seem to be a little better than you have been recently. They're keeping me here, in this building, and they want me to spend more time with you.'

'I'd like that. I'd like you to stay.'

Aeryn remembered back, all those years ago, to the Christmas eve in Jack's house. She had seriously been thinking of leaving him for good back then, although she would not tell him that now. Staying aboard Moya with him had seemed to be causing them both so much pain, and her leaving seemed like it might be a way to lessen their mutual suffering. And then the decision as to whether to stay or go had been taken out of her hands. If only he had asked her to stay back then: Maybe things would have been different? She sighed wistfully. John and his timing!

Some weeks before:

Holt took another headache pill and looked at the latest urgent message from the White House. His relations with all sorts of government agencies had not been comfortable in recent days, ever since events beyond his control had led to the truth about his operation to come to the attention of powerful people who were not his political allies. Some of those people and been none to pleased to find out what Holt had been up to for the last seven years. Not, he suspected, because they disapproved, per se. No, it seemed more likely to Holt that they were merely sore that they had not been informed or, better, involved. But he had needed to keep things secret: The more people that new, the more difficult it would have been to continue the project, his project.

Holt had worked tirelessly during the closing years of the previous presidency first to set up the shell organisations, covers and funding for his operation, and then to place himself in charge, and in a way which would not draw attention or cause him and cause him to be replaced when the inevitable change in administration occurred. Everything had worked out fine for the first couple of years. But now, the true nature of his well-funded but little-used veterans' clinic had come to the attention of what Holt regarded as the wrong people. And those people were making it clear that they were not happy.

Holt sighed. He had managed to ignore the demands of a growing number of people and agencies these last few days, but he could ignore the President himself: He was going to have to go to Washington to explain himself, and he was not sure that he could, at least not in the way that the President would expect.

Back to the present:

Several more days had passed, and with each visit from Aeryn, John had become a little less closed off. Whilst Aeryn, on the other hand, seemed little changed to John, that he was even thinking such thoughts was another sign that John, at least, was over the worst of his depression.

Once again, they sat by the window of his room, John sitting on the edge of his bed. Aeryn, her hands fidgeting nervously, was in her now customary position, sitting stiff and tense on a chair, almost brushing knees with him. John reached out a hand to gently calm one of hers.

'They hurt you often?' he asked softly. After a pause, she nodded.

'Often enough, in the first few cycles.' he squeezed her hand comfortingly. 'It was never torture, not like with you and Scorpius. Just….. Medical things. And your human diagnosions are so primitive. They wanted to know about Sebacean bodies, how we're different from you. I don't really want to discuss it.'

John swallowed hard, thoughts of Nazi experiments filling his head. Thoughts of them trying to find Aeryn's tolerance for pain, for heat, for other things. He shuddered. But he knew Aeryn, now, she would talk if and when she was ready. There was no point in him pushing her. She took time.

'But mostly that wasn't so bad,' she continued. 'I was taught to deal with pain, and I knew they did not want to cause me permanent harm. The worst part was being on my own, not knowing when it would end, and not knowing when I would see a friendly face again.'

John nodded in understanding, 'It was the times without you that were the hardest for me, in the old days, in the Uts.' John suddenly felt overtaken by his own needs again, forgetting for a moment about those of Aeryn. 'You left me, over and over, Aeryn and each time I was lost a little more without you. Not knowing when, or even if, I'd ever see you again. That last time, when I was alone for monens on Elack, I decided I couldn't go through that again.'

'Then why did you do it? Why did you push me out of your life, John?'

'I had to decide whether to let you in or keep you out. When you came back, you wouldn't trust me, so…'

'Oh, don't give me that dren, not again.' she interrupted. 'I was ready to stay for good, but the more I tried, the more you pushed me away.'

'I couldn't trust you by, then: You'd left me so often, how could I trust you that you wouldn't leave again?'

'I wouldn't have, but before then I needed to sort things out on my own. Afterwards, it was you who ran from me.'

'It didn't seem that way to me. Besides, there was Scorpius…'

'I was dying, John. He saved my life. What else would you have had me do?' she snapped back.

John frowned. 'No, that's not what I meant. I understand….'

'Then what did you mean?'

'He was always in my head, trying to find out what made me tick. He was after the wormhole knowledge.'

'We all knew that, so what? He couldn't do anything.'

'If he'd have found out it was you, you were my key, you and the baby, he'd have used you to get that knowledge, and I wouldn't have been able to stop him.'

Aeryn thought for a moment. 'You're just being paranoid, John.'

'I was trying to protect you!'

Aeryn snorted in derision. 'Fine, what about Caroline, then, hen we got back to Earth? Why did you go off with her, when you had me there and there was no Scorpius? And why keep pushing me away when you'd decided to stay here? That was protecting me, too, was it?'

John nervously ran his thumb along his bottom lip. 'I… I wasn't thinking straight back then. Noranti had given me some drug to help me cope with everything that had happened. There were other things too, things that happened when you were away that time, finding yourself.'

'What things, John?'

John stopped avoiding her gaze and looked her in the eye, 'I'm going to ask you to trust me, Aeryn. There are some things it's just best to leave well alone.'

'Is this still some sort of game of yours?' she snapped, irritably, 'I won't break my promise to tell you about what happened when I was with the assassins, so you won't tell me about this?'

'No Aeryn, it's not like that.' he replied, shaking his head slowly. 'I'll tell you if you say you want me to, but I don't want to, I don't want to go back there. I'm asking you, please, don't make me tell you. Not right now, at least.'

'Later, then?'

'Maybe. For now, please believe me. Some really bad things happened back then, when you were away, and they screwed me up real bad.'

Aeryn thought for a moment then nodded. Crichton sighed in relief: she wasn't going to ask him to go back to the loneliness on Elack or worse…… Arnessk. At least not now. But she was silent now, waiting for him to make the next move.

'I'm sorry, Aeryn. I'm so sorry. About all of it.'

Aeryn got up, turning her back, ostensibly to get a glass of water, but in reality to try to recover her composure. John waited for her to sit again before he continued.

'Aeryn, there's something else.' she raised an eyebrow in response. 'I don't know how to say this, but you have to know. I don't want to keep secrets from you. Caroline and I were married, six years ago. We had a daughter.' John watched as the PK mask once again fell over Aeryn's face, hiding the pain he knew she must be feeling. He pressed on, rushing to conclude his news and ease, if only by a fraction, the pain he imagined she must be feeling. 'But she left me.' he cracked a smile and raised an eyebrow, 'Too fahrbot for her.'

Aeryn slumped back down in her chair, shattered by the revelation. She swallowed hard before saying, 'So you've been frelling Caroline. And all the while, I was a prisoner here.' It was a statement more than a question. 'How nice for you.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't know, I really thought you'd left on Moya.' John seemed thoroughly beaten again, both by the revelation and by her reaction to it.

Aeryn pondered for a while in silence. 'John,' she said eventually, shaking her head as she reached her free hand out to lace fingers with him, 'We really frelled things up, didn't we?'

Holt sat in Kaminsky's office. Kaminsky had sent him daily reports about Crichton's progress which were very encouraging, astonishing, even. Thinking back, he had never got the impression Crichton particularly cared about Sun when they were together on Earth. Of course he was aware, even back then, of the intelligence reports that said that they had once been in a relationship. But everything he had seen with his own eyes had told him that, certainly as far as Crichton was concerned, that relationship was long over. Sun had confirmed as much during her interrogations, which had led Holt to doubt the value in letting him see her now. But Kaminsky, and more powerful voices, had been very insistent, and he had been out of better options and under pressure to get results.

Holt could not deny that he was very happy to see such progress, after all, they now had an urgent and unforeseen need to have Crichton in a functional state. A very urgent need: After the first few days of general discussions, the calls to him demanding to know when they could talk to Crichton had grown ever more frequent and abrasive. And that was before his little project with Aeryn Sun had been uncovered.

Holt was now immensely glad that he had resisted all pressure to allow more harmful or fatal investigations to be conducted on Sun. Originally he had argued that she was a unique and irreplaceable asset and that they could learn more from her healthy and cooperative than unhealthy or dead. As time had gone on, and the force of that argument had diminished he, and as far as he knew, most, if not all of his team, had got to know Aeryn. Their resistance to doing her permanent harm had become more personal. Although he'd never admit it even to himself, he almost felt protective towards the alien woman these days. He thus viewed the new situation, where she had suddenly become much more valuable again, but was also at immense risk and could even be lost completely, with somewhat mixed feelings.

The pressure to act, to deliver Crichton into others' hands, was becoming unmanageable. They were expecting an update on Crichton within the hour and had begun to threaten to take matters into their own hands. Holt could not allow control to be snatched away from him. There was too much to lose. He had accepted he would have to deliver Crichton, and Sun, to others at some time, and that most likely sooner than later, but he needed to do it on his own terms and with a meaningful quid pro quo.

Holt listened impatiently to Kaminsky's professional assessment of Crichton's state of mind: Hell, Holt was no psychiatrist, he just wanted it in layman's language:

'That is all very interesting, but what I want to know is do you think he is ready to deal with _them_?' Holt snapped, uncharacteristically. He knew the pressure of the last few weeks was making him less diplomatic, but, when all was said and done, Kaminsky was just an employee. His employee. She'd just have to deal with it.

'I'm really not certain. He has made extraordinary progress. I've rarely, if ever, seen such a dramatic turnaround in such a case. If only we had known before what the effect of exposing him to the alien woman would be…..'

'That wasn't going to happen, not before…..' said Holt flatly.

Kaminsky nodded acceptance. 'But I think we need to discuss some of the things they have talked about - I think it reveals a lot about his state of mind.'

'In good time: Now is not a good time.'

'When will be?'

'Afterwards.' Holt replied. 'I can see what state of mind he is in for myself when he gets here.'

'I hardly think that is a substitute for a more in detailed analysis, or a professional opinion.'

Detail, ah yes, that reminded him: 'And I want the surveillance tapes in full, not just the highlights….' He said, sailing over her concerns.

'There are things you and your spooks don't need to know about. Personal things….' insisted Kaminsky defiantly.

'I disagree… I will be the judge of what is and is not relevant.'

'We've had that argument..'

'And we will have it again, until you do as I tell you!' Holt leaned in close and smiled menacingly. 'I think you sometimes forget who is paying your salary, Dr Kaminsky.' Holt revelled in exercising what power he could, after having to put up with being the underdog so much in recent weeks.

They were interrupted by a call from Kaminsky's assistant. 'He's here.'

'Show him in,' Kaminsky replied.

John was led in by two armed and black-suited agents, rather than more usual white-clad nursing orderlies. The men in suits retired to the doorway where they lurked silently, lest they be needed. Looking at John, still hunched, shuffling and a little withdrawn, it was hard to believe he could or would cause trouble, for all the progress he had made these last few days. John eyed Holt warily whilst Kaminsky indicated that John should sit opposite them.

'I must say, I'm very pleased with the progress we've been making with our new approach,' she opened with a smile.

'Screw you,' John replied flatly, as he sat opposite them. 'Both of you.'

'Now, there's no need..' began Holt. John glared at him with pure hatred.

'Oh, I beg to differ,' John interjected. 'What you've done to Aeryn, to my son, is…. Unforgivable.' he spat.

'Everything that was done was for the protection of our people: Your people. Outbursts like that make people question where your true loyalties lie, Commander,' responded Holt.

John looked at him with contempt. 'You just don't get it, do you? What you did, what you're still doing, is wrong. Wrong.'

'In your, somewhat biased, opinion.'

John snorted. 'We could argue this all day, Holt. At least, I'm sure you could,. But I want to know when do I get to see my son?' John asked. Holt was astounded as to how much more animated John had become in such a short time. Kaminsky had been right: Talking to the alien woman really was having an extraordinary effect on him.

'I'm sure Ms Sun has explained to you how it really works around here,' drawled Holt. 'You want something from us, you give us something we want first.'

'You want to cut to the chase, huh, Holt? Aeryn thinks you want something from me, that's why you let us see each other. Why you let me know about Deke. So now's the moment you twirl your moustache and tell me: What is it you want so badly from me all of a sudden, that you didn't want before, for all these years?'

'Oh we don't want anything from you,' replied Holt, too casually. John snorted in disbelief. 'Someone else wants something from you, Mr Crichton, and has offered your Country a great deal in return.'

'What on Earth are you talking about, you piece of dren?' replied John angrily.

'T.R., this could cause him a severe relapse,' warned Kaminsky, tapping her pen on her note pad, clearly deeply agitated. 'I must….'

'Objection noted,' Holt interrupted and, ignoring both her and Crichton's insult, he picked up a remote control and aimed it at a large TV screen on a nearby wall. Holt pressed a few buttons, and the TV came to life.

'Two months ago, some unexpected visitors arrived.' said Holt flatly. A grainy image appeared on the screen, obviously shot from some distance.

'Moya?' breathed John. Grainy images of the Leviathan continued to play.

'We're not sure, but naturally, like you, we assumed it was your shipmates, returning for some reason,' continued Holt. 'So imagine our surprise when we discovered otherwise?' Kaminsky continued to frown and tap her pen on her pad whilst observing Crichton closely.

A face now appeared on the video, with the merest trace of a smile playing across his features.

'Braca….' hissed John, almost stung from his seat.

'Indeed,' confirmed Holt. 'After some initial misunderstandings, he gave us a very clear message as to why he is here.' Holt fast forwarded to a new section of video.

'….. Thank you Secretary of State. You are speaking to Commandant Miklo Braca, Peacekeeper Interplanetary Services. I have come to negotiate the extradition of two dangerous criminals who we believe have sought refuge on your planet: They are a deserter from our own forces, and her accomplice, who is one of your own people. We can supply evidence of their many crimes and are willing to handsomely compensate your government for your cooperation…..' Holt flicked the video off, watching Crichton's shocked expression with mixed feelings, but great interest.

'So, Mr Crichton, tell me, what shall we do next?'


	4. Chapter 4

**Lost and Found Chapter 4**

Thanks for the feedback and encouragement: Special mention to Hazmot this time.

And I have just watched WGFA for the first time in about 3 years and realised what I have subconsciously done in choosing the name of the psychiatrist: A bit like perhaps Crichton himself did in WGFA. How spooky is that?

Dr Kaminsky had observed Crichton carefully whilst the short video clip of Braca had been playing: Not only had Crichton barely spoken, he had turned pale and wide eyed, slowly creeping further up the back of his chair. It was as though his body wished to hide behind the chair but could not bring itself to stand up and thus, even for the briefest moment, to move closer to Braca. As the video finished, Crichton looked to her for all the world like a deer paralysed with fear in a hunter's spotlight.

'You cannot seriously be thinking of handing me over to them?' Crichton whispered at last. Standing and pacing anxiously around the room, his mannerisms twitched with nervous energy. The two agents near the door shifted uncomfortably, getting ready to intervene if necessary.

Dr Kaminsky was genuinely surprised: She would have staked her reputation that Holt's little game would have pushed Crichton back into the depths of his madness. Although it had clearly upset him, looking at him now, agitated and ready to run, it seemed instead to have renewed his energy and sense of purpose.

'Commander Crichton, I do not really see what choice we have. Do you? Both yourself and Officer Sun have repeatedly told us that our military is no match for theirs, and everything we have learnt from her Prowler has confirmed that. Unless ….. Unless there is something you can think of which we could use against them?' Holt replied.

'Something really powerful?' He added suggestively, when John did not reply. John did, however, stop pacing the room and stood glowering at Holt. 'Some sort of weapon perhaps?'

'No,' John replied flatly. 'I have no idea what you might be talking about.'

Holt raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Is that so? Really?'

'Really. So you'll have to think of something else, won't you?'

'That could be quite difficult.'

'Not my problem.'

'This Braca is getting quite insistent: We may have no choice about handing you over to him.'

'You haven't so far, so I'm guessing you won't.'

Holt shrugged: John had guessed right, but Holt wasn't going to admit that, even in body language, far less in words.

'That's a big risk you'll be taking.'

'Life is a risk. But I still can't help you.'

'Hmm. You'll let us know straight away if you have any sudden flashes of inspiration, won't you Mr Crichton?'

'Oh, if I do, I expect you'll be the first to know, Holt,' replied Crichton, alluding to his growing conviction that he was being monitored around the clock by Holt's people..

After his meeting with Holt and Dr Kaminsky. John was surprised to find himself escorted back through a different set of corridors to that which he was used to. As he walked on, he began to tense, wondering what surprise they had in store for him. He had clearly not given Holt what he wanted, or even suggested he might. And John now understood a little more than he wanted to about the way Holt encouraged cooperation.

After a short while, they stopped before and anonymous, plain and locked door. An agent in a black suit stood beside the door, waiting. One of his escorts smiled at John as the new agent checked something through his earpiece. Satisfied with what he had heard, the agent entered a code on a keypad to unlock the door. John felt the tension in his body rising, as he prepared himself for fight or flight, depending on what was on the other side of the door. As the door swung open, he glanced in, ready to react to whatever the room might contain.

Three figures were inside the small, Spartan meeting room: Two black suited agents, one drinking a coffee from a Styrofoam cup, and a casually dressed Aeryn, who was flicking through, of all things, a fashion magazine whilst sitting on a low, black leather couch.

John was surprised that they had brought him to Aeryn: After Holt's remarks about trading for what the other wanted, and then John's refusal to admit that he might know of something which could be used against the Peacekeepers, he had assumed Holt intended to punish him, not reward him. John could only conclude that Holt had some devious and as yet unrevealed reason for taking him straight to Aeryn after their meeting.

John relaxed a little as he was motioned inside: At least they were together. Aeryn looked up and smiled her beautiful, broad smile, relaxing him further. He scarcely noticed as the two agents made their way to the door.

'You've an hour, ring the bell by the door if you need us earlier,' one of them remarked casually before the door shut and clicked locked behind him.

'Hey…' Aeryn began, playing the game he had taught her so many cycles ago.

'Hey yourself,' he replied. Then, spying a second magazine on the couch beside her, this one focussed on expensive houses and furnishings, he added with a smile, gesturing expansively to indicate the room. 'Nice place, like what you've done with it.'

She put aside the magazine she had been looking at. 'I thought we could buy that big place in the country. Throw a party for everyone we know. But then, it seems, I'd be expected to wear a dress and a floppy hat.' She indicated the magazine beside, then she smiled at him and shook her head. 'It's not going to happen.' She laughed. 'Is it?'

'Well, I never liked hats,' he replied gently. 'Never saw you as the hat-lady type.'

Picking up the magazines, he flopped down on the couch next to her. He was pleasantly surprised when she leant slightly into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

John hated to break the mood, but felt he had to. 'You were right you know.'

'Of course I was. About what?' she asked, turning her head slightly to look up at him.

'There's something going on.' She raised an eyebrow to indicate he should continue. He took her hand in his and squeezed. Reaching up with his other hand to push her hair back from her eyes he continued.

'It's the Peacekeepers,' Aeryn sat bolt upright and stared at him.

'Who, when?'

'They say they're here for both of us, for our…crimes…. But I think we can both guess what they're really here for.'

'What will your people do? Will you… cooperate?' Aeryn asked.

John stared at the wall opposite for a moment.

'Aeryn, I couldn't…'

'Scorpius isn't all Peacekeepers,' she asserted, trying to capture his gaze. 'Look at me…'

John rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. It was time to come clean, he decided. He turned his head back to face her. Struggling to decide where to start, he leapt in.

'Aeryn, the Peacekeepers, they did something to me, when you were away. When I was on Arnesk. It's one of the reasons I had trouble trusting when you came back to Moya.'

She frowned and shook her head, not understanding. 'What is it, John? Is this the thing you couldn't tell me about last weeken?' He nodded in confirmation. She took his shoulders in both hands, forcing him to focus on her. 'What happened, John?' she demanded softly.

'Grayza and her people, they took us prisoner.'

'But you got away, didn't you?'

'Yes, but, first….they did things.' Aeryn frowned, confused. 'Aeryn, do you know what Heppel oil is?'

Aeryn thought for a moment: The words were familiar, but she couldn't quite place them.

'It makes you… malleable, open to suggestions.' Aeryn's bemused face showed that she still did not understand.

'Hell Aeryn, you'll do anything. Anything!' Suddenly Aeryn remembered what she had heard about Heppel oil: She felt the blood drain from her face as realisation dawned. 'Grayza, she used Heppel oil to…. to interrogate me.'

There was a long silence while Aeryn thought about this: John watched her, his own emotions in turmoil, as she struggled to come to terms with the revelation.

'I… I'm. So. angry,' she said eventually, although he could see that her anger was clearly not directed at him. John could tell, from her sudden shocked expression that she now understood the essence of what Grayza had done to him. He was so grateful that he wouldn't have to spell it out in front of whatever bugs Holt had planted in the room. However, he was sure they would pick over his and Aeryn's words and draw their own conclusions, conclusions which would doubtless be close to the truth.

'And so sorry,' she added more softly, cupping his cheek with one hand.

'You didn't know: I didn't tell you.'

'No, you didn't,' then she frowned. 'Why not?'

'I… I just couldn't. there never seemed to be a good time. And I wanted to forget, I tried to forget. But she used it to interrogate me, twice.'

'Twice?'

'Twice, the second time, I went back: Can you believe that, Aeryn? I went back. How dumb is that? I let her do it to me _again_.'

'What… why..?' she stammered trying to understand.

'It was D's idea. D and the others, they persuaded me, to distract her while we escaped.' Aeryn felt so angry all of a sudden: Not only had her erstwhile shipmates made John do this, but when she herself had got back to Moya, they had blamed her for everything that was distressing John, blamed her for all of his troubles. Yet they had done so much to hurt him themselves, and kept that from her. She fumed inwardly for a moment before remembering her own part in all of this: That she had left him to face the horrors of those monens alone, that she had not been there to stop the others, or to stop Grayza.

'I should have been there….. to protect you,' she said, blaming her absence, thinking that he only blamed her for not being there, not yet grasping that John might have had even more complicated and as yet unspoken problems with her. Problems based on her identity as a Peacekeeper.

'It's not just that,' John continued, squeezing her hand, trying to let her know it was alright now. 'When I was with her, with the oil, I didn't think of you, and afterwards, I hated myself.'

'It was the oil, she forced you…'

'And afterwards when I saw you… well, you reminded me of the Peacekeepers. Of them. Of her.'

Aeryn sat in silence, trying to take it all in, but it was too much at once for her, and words were not her milieu. However, she was already imagining what actions she would take, should fate ever hand her the chance to take revenge on Grayza.

'But that's all over now: When I see you now, all I see is you,' he smiled softly at her, lifted her hand and softly kissed the knuckles.

After a pause to let the moment run it's course, he added, 'But I can't forgive or forget what they did to me.'

Aeryn shook her head. 'Me neither,' She agreed ominously.

_Some weeks before:_

It had been ten days since the starship had arrived in orbit around Earth. For three days the visitors had remained silent. But on the fourth they had opened communications with the US government. The advisers to the new President had been surprised to be asked regarding the whereabouts of Aeryn Sun by the aliens: To their knowledge, she had left with the other aliens, seven years before. But the visitors had been insistent in asking after her, and so various government agencies had began to investigate those who had had dealings with her seven years earlier, including the Crichtons, Holt and his erstwhile staff. Within a couple of days, the convergence of trails had resulted in Holt and several of his current employees being visited by agents of the new administration and some uncomfortable questions being asked. A further few days of secret investigations and even more secret discussions had led to the uncovering of Holt's empire.

Now Holt fidgeted nervously as he found himself in the White House, about to brief the President, along with several senior figures in the military and intelligence communities.

'Mr President, gentleman, I think we can be grateful for two things,'

'Really?' snorted General McReady. 'Perhaps you could enlighten us?'

Holt eyed him coldly 'That this has not gone public and that our visitors seem to have no interest in it doing so.' he retorted. The General looked neither placated with the answer nor happy that Holt had the impertinence to suggest one. He continue to glare at Holt as someone he regarded as someone whose presence was not acceptable in polite company such as this.

The President nodded sagely, 'That much may be true enough, Mr Holt. However, I think I am not alone in being discomforted by the fact that I cannot trust the speaker. ' He cast his eyes around the room. 'I take it you have all read the briefings on our discussions with these aliens.' It was a statement not a question. His gaze returned to rest on the uneasy figure of Holt. 'Mr Holt, as it seems, for better or worse, you are now our expert on these aliens, we would like you to share your impressions with us.'

Holt cleared his throat and unnecessarily shuffled some papers to compose himself. 'I'm sure you all remember the Moya incident, when Commander Crichton returned to Earth?' The President and a couple of his aides made disapproving noises at this reminder of Holt's deception.

'And where is Crichton now?' asked one of the military aides, either a briefing behind the security service heads or intent on stirring yet more discomfort for Holt. 'Why isn't he here, Surely he has some expertise to bring to bear on this situation?'

'Crichton is living in Miami under an assumed identity. Over recent years he has become… mentally unstable. He was recently admitted to a private clinic, which is part of my organisation, and I am afraid is currently in no state to be of much use to us.'

'Then what…?'

'What has previously been classified is that, for the last seven years, one of the aliens from Moya has also been a…a guest of my organisation.'

Even though most of those present now knew this fact, there was still an uncomfortable silence. It was eventually broken by the President 'Do go on, Mr Holt.'

Holt gathered his composure and continued. 'As you are aware, the aliens in orbit belong to an aggressive, militaristic society called the Peacekeepers. Now, it just so happens that my guest for the last seven years has been the former Peacekeeper, Officer Aeryn Sun. You may recall her from seven years ago?'

'She was the one who looked human? Like our visitors?' Asked the perhaps ill-briefed General.

'Indeed,' confirmed Holt, feeling more comfortable when he felt he might be holding the upper hand, even in such a minor way.

'So, do you think they are really here for her? Like they said?'

'No, I think they have no interest in her. Or, despite the face value of their request, in Commander Crichton. Not as such.'

Holt's revelation was met with quizzical looks all round. He smiled, settling into the pleasure of knowing more than anyone else there. 'I do think they are telling the truth about much of what they have said: They do want Crichton. If they wanted something else, I have little doubt, that with their technology, they could simply take it. But they do not want either Crichton or Sun for their supposed crimes: I don't think, after seven years, they would have travelled across the galaxy to apprehend a deserter and an alien trouble maker, do you?' Holt allowed himself a smile, as he felt his power over the room growing.

'If that is the case, just what do you think they are really after, then?' asked a sharp-looking elderly man in a civilian suit.

'In her… debriefings, Officer Sun has let slip little pieces of a puzzle about Commander Crichton: I think the Peacekeepers believe he knows how to produce a weapon of immense power, even by their standards. I believe that is why the Peacekeepers have been hunting them.'

'Then why has Crichton never shared this with us, with his own people?'

'Sun has insisted that there is no weapon, however, she has not been consistent. I believe it is because he thinks no one should have such a weapon. As, incidentally, I believe does Sun.'

'What do you mean, she's not been consistent.'

'I think she is hiding something, probably an occasion when Crichton made or used such a weapon. Assuming there was such an occasion, I believe it would explain why the Peacekeepers have been so persistent in seeking him out.'

'So, if we give him to the Peacekeepers, we risk giving them the weapon?' Observed the President. 'And if what we have been told about the Peacekeepers is true, we cannot consider giving such belligerent aliens such a weapon. '

'Do we have the capability to destroy the Peacekeeper vessel?' interjected another civilian.

'I seriously doubt it. We are still struggling to understand Officer Sun's space fighter or sidearms,' said a grey haired and steely-eyed man in an Air Force uniform.

'Those, at least, we did know about.' put in another General, giving Holt a sideways stare laden with disapproval as he did so.

'We have nothing that could stand against even that small craft, never mind whatever they might have on the vessel in orbit.'

'Unless we can persuade Mr Crichton to share his weapons knowledge with us?' suggested an elderly civilian.

Holt shook his head, 'Crichton is currently barely capable of holding a coherent conversation. Besides, I do not believe he would share that information even if he were able.'

'Then we must do all we can to change that, whilst convincing our visitors that we will likely give them Crichton, but that we need more time before doing so,' summed up the elderly civilian. Several heads, including he President, nodded. Within seconds, the agreement in the room was near-unanimous.

'Holt, you understand how much is at stake? You must use any and all methods to get Commander Crichton to share his knowledge with us,' the President summarized.

Holt shook his head 'We've tried everything, but his mental state just seems to deteriorate.'

The President scowled. 'No, Mr Holt, you have not tried everything.'

Holt looked surprised, but was uneasy about contradicting the President when his leader obviously had something in mind. Holt decided to hold his tongue and see what the President had to suggest.

'Have you forgotten that I have now seen the intelligence reports on both Officer Sun and Commander Crichton? You and your people work out a way to use Sun and their child to bring him round to our way of thinking. And be quick about it, the very future of our country, if not this planet, could be at stake here.'

'Do whatever you have to do,' the President stressed.

The present:

Commandant Braca stood on the Leviathan's command, staring resentfully at the blue-green planet before him. The humans had Crichton hidden in some official facility, he was sure of it. But that knowledge just made him all the more sure that the humans were playing some sort of game. Braca decided he had had enough of waiting around for them to make their move. The humans had no idea as to how urgent it was that they hand over Crichton: Lives were being lost every day, and Braca lacked the patience that his one-time commander, Scorpius, had always claimed for himself.

He needed to do something: This farce had gone on long enough without sign of a satisfactory outcome. He couldn't just sit here, in this leviathan, orbiting this planet, for ever.

'What is your assessment?' he asked his second in command, without turning to look at the man. 'Of the humans?'

'I don't think they intend to give us Crichton,' replied lieutenant Denak confidently.' Otherwise, why would they be taking so long? No, I think they are delaying, either hoping we will be forced to leave or in order to find some way to betray us.'

Braca nodded. 'Lieutenant Veldak?' he asked of his third in command.

'I agree, sir.'

Braca frowned. If the humans knew how weak his hand was, they would likely prove even more difficult: Military Tech still had not determined how to make wormhole travel safe for Peacekeeper ships, so he had traversed the wormhole in a leviathan, with only three Marauders a dozen Prowlers in the hanger bay, and a tiny crew of thirty commandos and techs. Although the Vilnash, a full command carrier, stood waiting at the other end of the Earth wormhole, the only way to get reinforcements, without them being liquefied, was by ferrying them through the wormhole on the leviathan.

'So, what do you propose we should do? We cannot locate Crichton from orbit,' Braca said quietly, more to himself than to his officers.

'If I may make a suggestion, Commandant?' Braca turned to the clamshell, frowning deeply.

'Yes, Pilot, what is it?' Bracca asked, still uneasy about dealing with such clearly non-Sebacean creatures as equals. He was doubly uncertain about dealing with this particular pilot, because of his role in helping the fugitives several cycles earlier. But all of that was past history now, Braca forced himself to remember: Harsh times made unusual alliances.

'We cannot locate Commander Crichton, but I believe I can locate the biological signature of a Sebacean, such as Officer Sun, even from orbit. We.. I have done so before. It is sufficiently distinctive from a human bio-signature that, with the right modifications to our sensors…..'

'Excellent, Pilot. Begin immediately, all our resources are at your disposal. Veldak, you will oversee the search, Denak, you will be in charge of the extraction team: begin planning immediately,' Braca commanded, and with that he marched off command towards his quarters: Now that things were in motion, he could do with some long-overdue sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Olivia Crichton was bored and frustrated: She had had a long, tiring trip from home to see her brother, and now the staff at the clinic seemed to be finding excuses to stop her from seeing him today: She looked at her watch: Her last flight home was only four hours away, and if they kept this up she wouldn't get to see John at all. She knew, from Jack, what sort of state John was in now, so she wasn't expecting a thrilling conversation from this visit, but John was her brother, and to go home without having seen him at all would be just so...... frustrating. Especially as she couldn't imagine what reason they might have for not letting her see him. It wasn't like either the clinic staff or John was likely to be doing anything unexpected or which couldn't be delayed until she was gone.

Olivia got up and crossed the waiting room to get another cup of coffee from the machine. Not that she was thirsty or needed the caffeine, more that it was just something to do.

She looked up and down the corridor that led off from the waiting room. There was no one about. Would it hurt, she wondered, whether she went for a little explore, unescorted? Maybe she could find John's room herself?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three weeks had passed since Aeryn's captors had moved her to the city. Her new home consisted of three rooms on the thirteenth floor of the same anonymous, government-owned building where they were keeping Crichton.

A week ago, she had finally won another small victory towards a more normal life when Deke had been brought from wherever they had been keeping him to join her. For the first time since he had been born, she was able to spend more than a few hours at a time with Deke. What was more, her son and his father were under the same roof. Aeryn gained more than a small twinge of pleasure from those simple facts.

The alarm was as unexpected as it was loud. Aeryn rushed from her day room to the bedroom, where Deke had been sleeping, and picked him up in order to comfort him. She barely had time to share two words with her son before the door burst open and three agents swept into the room. In a move familiar both to Aeryn and to the agents, they expertly covered Aeryn with their handguns as they panned out to hold the door and the adjacent corners of the bedroom.

'Kneel down, on the floor, now, with Deke in front of you, then link your fingers behind your head!' ordered the agent in charge, firmly but not unkindly. Aeryn knew all these agents well, and had done for many cycles. Despite that, she was not surprised that they would treat her with caution: They knew she was dangerous. The restraint procedure to move her to another location was a drill that Aeryn knew well, excepting the involvement of Deke. Aeryn sighed and obeyed. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew better than to disobey, especially now Deke's safety was a factor. Once she was on her knees, the lead agent approached and quickly manacled her hands and feet before helping her back to her feet. As he began leading her to the door by her elbow, he called out 'Agent Smith, bring the child.' Smith holstered her gun and lifted Deke, whilst the third agent continued to cover Aeryn.

'What's going on?' asked Aeryn, slightly concerned. She had not known a drill quite like this before, and certainly wasn't expecting both here and Deke to be moved. And what was with the alarm?

'We're moving you to a safe location,' was all the lead agent would say as he led Aeryn through the outer room of her suite towards it's only door to the rest of the building. Abruptly, that door burst open to reveal three armed, black and purple-clad figures.

Despite the passing of many years, Aeryn recognized the uniform of the Peacekeeper Special Ops Commandos in a microt: They looked just like the team that Larraq had brought aboard Moya, ten cycles before. Instinctively, and despite her restraints, she rolled to the floor, knowing even as she did so that if they had come to kill her, seeking cover would do her no good. It hurt to her very core, but, given the situation, she knew that she was powerless at that moment to help Deke.

In the microt it took for Aeryn's heart to beat again, the newcomers revealed to her whether she was to be retrieved or retired: After the briefest exchange of fire, three humans and one Peacekeeper lay apparently dead on the floor, whilst Aeryn found herself very much alive: It was all the answer she needed, for now, to the question of their intent. Then her heart missed another beat as she remembered that one of the human disruptors, the female, Smith had been carrying Deke.

'My son!' Aeryn screamed in Sebacean, writhing around in her restraints, trying to get a clear sight of Deke, where he lay motionless under the crumpled body of Agent Smith.

I couldn't NOT use a cliff-hanger like that, now could I?

Do you want to know what happens next?

Do you? Say Please. Pretty Please. With a cherry on the top…..

Although you may have to wait a few weeks.

The last couple of chapters I'm going to post just a few days apart: That way you can either revel in the angst between chapters for a few days, or wait until everything is up and rush on to the final Gotterdammerung. As Empress Novia would say, 'Choose.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Lost and Found, Chapter 5**

Holt strode into the featureless, windowless and white-painted room where they were holding John. For once, John was not unhappy to see Holt: John had been sitting there alone for nearly an arn, his mind going over and over the strange events of the morning, trying to understand their meaning: He wanted some answers. As Holt moved uneasily into the room towards John, two stone-faced, burly bodyguards had shut the door and now stood watch over the antagonists.

A few arns before, when the unexpected alarm had gone off, a small group of very nervous and excitable agents had arrived at John's room within a minute, and had quickly bundled him away. They had taken him to, of all places, a female toilet. John had to laugh, if only inwardly, at their choice of hiding place. He wondered how many of them had ever been in the toilet before. And there they had stayed, the agents' guns drawn, in an edgy silence, for half an arn, while all sorts of excitable noises went on outside. It was definitely a peculiar experience. If there had been a fire, John was sure they would have taken him out of the building, not hidden him in the female toilet, which made him wonder what was going on. None of the agents would say. Then just as abruptly and with as little explanation, he had been rushed from the building and driven for two hours, out of the city and into the countryside. After a final half arn of being driven blindfolded, he had finally arrived at a small, secure facility. There he had been led inside and soon afterwards abandoned without ceremony in the very room where Holt had now come to see him.

Little did John know, but this was the very facility where Aeryn had been held for most of the last seven years. Indeed, she had spent many unhappy hours in this exact room, answering the endless questions of Holt and his confederates.

'What's been going on, Holt? What's with the alarms and the sudden road trip?' John demanded. 'Where's Aeryn and Deke?' Holt eyed him wordlessly. For once, it was Holt's turn to look distressed, but John didn't really care how Holt was feeling.

'Sit down Mr Crichton,' Holt replied. John ignored him.

'And why has it taken so long for someone to come and talk to me?' John rambled on, filling the silence. 'It didn't need to be you, any old flunky would have done!' Continued Crichton who, but a month before, had been a shrunken shadow. He was now all-but bouncing off the walls in agitation, whilst Holt struggled to interrupt his stream of demands. John was starting to surprise even himself by the change in his demeanour.

'We've been trying to work that out ourselves,' Holt said at last. He ran his fingers through his obviously artificially supplemented hair. 'Sit down, Mr Crichton.'

'Huh?'

'Look, just sit down, Commander, and I'll level with you. Tell you what we know.'

Crichton kicked, in agitation, at the indicated chair, before grudgingly settling onto it. It was clear that Holt was going to bide his time until he did so. Holt quickly glanced back at his guards, sat, and sighed heavily before beginning.

'The Peacekeepers have taken Officer Sun, your son and…. Your sister. Olivia.'

'Dren!' hissed John.

'Commandant Braca has contacted us. He wants you. At least that is what he has said he wants. Of course, both you and I know what he is really after.'

'And that would be?' John snarled. Holt was lying about Aeryn, Deke and Olivia. Holt was always lying, it was just another of his mind-frells, John was sure of it.

'Why don't we both stop pretending we don't know. Weapons.' Holt watched John's reactions carefully as he dropped each little bombshell: Holt couldn't deny that he was just a little curious as to which piece of news, if any, might cause the greatest response from Crichton. And he was also curious to see what those reactions might be. When John did eventually reply, the ex-astronaut was far calmer and more lucid than Holt had been expecting.

'Firstly, I can't make a wormhole weapon. Secondly, even if I could, I wouldn't give it to either you or them: No one should have that power.'

Holt sat back in his chair with a smirk and brushed an imaginary speck from the cuff of his dark suit. He had, at least, got some sort of admission from Crichton regarding the existence of wormhole weapons. He could build on that.

'So, now we're getting somewhere: There is a weapon, and it has something to do with wormholes, doesn't it Commander?'

'You…..!' Crichton made to lunge at Holt but backed down when the guards behind Holt immediately stepped forward to intervene. Holt flashed a smile at Crichton for three seconds.

'So, now we've gotten that out the way, let's talk wormhole weapons, shall we?'

'Oh, let's not.'

Holt pressed on regardless: 'Now, at present, your government cannot see the circumstances under which we would allow the Peacekeepers to have such a weapon.'

'Good, neither can I. We're done, then. Don't forget to validate your parking on the way out.'

'But we need something to help us get your family back safely, don't we Commander?' Holt reminded John.

'Which means, T.R?' John leant forward, trying to invade Holt's space and so menace him.

'Which means, that, if I were you, I'd be considering what I could give my government that might help them save my loved ones. Because we will not be handing you over.'

'Great,' sighed John, glancing to one side and brushing his thumb across his lips. 'Just peachy.'

'Something,' Holt made a mock frown and shook his head, 'Something like wormhole weapons, for instance?'

Crichton sat still and pondered deeply for a moment.

'You know, T.R., it seems to me like this just might be some sort of ploy: Maybe you're lying to me?'

'Go on?' Holt mock-frowned and shook his head again.

'Maybe the Peacekeepers have nothing. Maybe they don't have my family, and this is just a ploy to try to get me to give you what you want?'

Holt gave a smug little smile: 'Maybe?' He held up his hands. 'Maybe not. Either way, you have to make the same choice, Commander. What can you give us?'

'Are you threatening my family?' John snarled. The guards stepped forwards again.

'No, Mr Crichton. The Peacekeepers have your family. I can show you a tape of their abduction, if you like?' He raised a hand and poised his fingers ready to click them.

'Oh, I bet you can.'

'But I need your help to get them back.'

Crichton rubbed his head with both hands, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table between him and Holt. Scorpius, Grayza, now Holt: they all wanted wormhole weapons, and they were all willing to mess with his head to get them. But his story was the same now as it had been back in the Uncharted Territories, years before.

'You know, Bob, whatever you want to believe, I just can't make a wormhole weapon.'

'That is unfortunate…'

'Look, Holt,' John snapped back. 'You're not the first psycho who's tried to get into my head, who's tried to get me to make them a doomsday weapon. And believe me, you're a long way from being either the scariest, the ugliest or even the most fetching.'

'Then do you have anything to propose, Crichton?'

'Listen, Holt, I would do anything to protect my family, my friends. Anything,' Crichton seemed crushed at last, all the fight knocked out of him. 'But I can't give you some super-weapon.' He shrugged. 'Wish I could, I really do.'

Holt frowned, perhaps genuinely this time. 'Then, Commander, I'm not sure what we're going to do.'

And, with that, Holt stood and moved to leave the room. He paused at the door and, before leaving, added, 'Let me know if _you _think of anything?'

Earlier that day:

As Deke began to scream, so Aeryn dared to breath again.

'Sun? Get that….infant… to stop screaming! Now!' The lieutenant in charge commanded, gesturing first at her then at Deke with his weapon. Aeryn hobbled over to the toddler, as best she could manage considering her shackled ankles. She pulled him from under the body of Agent Smith, and shushed him quiet, her hands running over him, both to soothe and to check for injury, as best she could manage in her handcuffs. Apart from being bruised from being dropped, and generally distressed, he seemed otherwise unharmed, she noted with overwhelming relief. She was also thankful that her efforts to quiet him worked, as she didn't have to look to far into her own former life to imagine how brutal her captors might be if he had not fallen silent.

'Officer Oruff, bring the infant.' The lead Peacekeeper said curtly. The other remaining Commando nodded and took the child from her. Then, without further words, the Peacekeeper commander pulled her back to her feet and all but dragged her out into the corridor.

Alarms and smoke filled the air as Aeryn's captor hustled her down the corridor, as fast as he could manage considering her bound ankles. The lieutenant had one hand on her elbow, with the other holding his pulse pistol: He had shouldered his rifle, Aeryn imagined because it would be too ungainly now that he had to deal with her. Behind came Officer Oruff, similarly encumbered with Deke.

There was just one more turn in the corridor and twenty paces to the fire exit, which was where they seemed to be making for. Whatever their destination, Aeryn noted that they were in a rush to get there and that they were making mistakes. She imagined that was also because they were both encumbered with her and with Deke, as well as being one soldier down. What sort of training are they giving PK commandos these days, Aeryn wondered? They were acting sloppier than trainees on a simulation: She would scarcely have believed they were both Black Ghosts, the elite.

To Aeryn's disgust, her escort swung her round the next corner in the corridor without checking around the bend first. There could have been anyone there. And indeed there was: A human woman was pulling open the fire exit door. The Ghost followed Aeryn round the corner, saw the woman and immediately raised his pulse pistol. Aeryn knew she had but a moment to react to save the woman's life. Limited by her shackles, Aeryn threw her weight against her captor, her elbow digging deep into his side and causing his shot to go wide, even as she began to plead for the woman's life.

'She can carry the child, and free up your officer!' Aeryn explained hurriedly. The Ghost frowned for a moment, raising his hand to strike Aeryn. Aeryn stared him down but breathed a sigh of relief to herself when he reconsidered his blow, lowering his hand: She reckoned he was probably more annoyed at his own lapse in not checking around the corner than at her for disrupting his shot. At least, if it was her in his place, she would have been more annoyed at herself, she reasoned. Whatever, the logic of her suggestion evidently overcame his anger at her and he nodded curtly.

There seemed to be smoke everywhere, but no other sign of a fire, as Olivia struggled to find her way to a fire exit. The building was unfamiliar to her, and the few people that were around seemed to be rushing hither and thither. They evidently had more pressing concerns of their own than helping her out of the building, so Olivia ran on alone. She didn't have to go far until she saw the comforting, illuminated fire-exit sign which she hoped would lead her to safety. The door was slightly ajar, but the broken frame suggested it had been smashed open from the stairwell side rather than opened normally from the main corridor. Olivia had no time to dwell on that mystery before a loud explosion beside her head caused her instinctively to drop to the floor, her hands flung protectively over her head.

Olivia peered from under her arm to where someone had just said something urgent but incomprehensible in some strange, clicky, tonal language. Behind her, at the corner of the corridor, stood two figures, a scary-looking man, who was dressed in red and black leather and holding a gun which he was vaguely pointing in Olivia's direction, and a slim, black-haired young woman in wrist and ankle restraints. The woman was obviously pleading with the man, even as she tried to use the weight of her body to block him from taking aim at Olivia again with his pistol. The man raised his hand, as though to strike the woman, then seemed to reconsider. As Olivia watched them, another figure, armed and dressed like the man, came into view around the corner.

Then Olivia registered the mens' weapons: They looked like John's pulse pistol! A chill gripped Olivia as the three figures bore down on her. Then she realised it wasn't just the weapons which looked familiar.

'Do as I say and they won't harm you!' The woman commanded Olivia in oddly familiar, slightly accented English, before adding much more softly, 'Olivia....?'

'Aeryn...?' was all Olivia could reply, as realisation dawned on her, before one of the men thrust a bundle into her hands. Olivia looked down at the now-squirming bundle and got yet another shock.

On the bridge of the command carrier, Vilnash, Captain Nerrit stared into deep space through the black-and-red-lined semi-spherical view portal. To an observer, it might almost have seemed as though she was searching the inky depths for any signs of the Scarrans. But, of course, that would have been a foolish thing to be doing: She had the carrier's sensors for that, as well as outlying Marauder patrols, and they could see far further than her limited, organic vision.

No, Captain Nerrit was trying to isolate herself from the bustle of her bridge crew, who were checking and rechecking the carriers' systems and sensors and coordinating the many activities of the her crew. Nerrit was thinking about why they were here, wasting their time on this fools errand. They were seeking out the legendary criminal, John Crichton, whilst the rest of the fleet, and all their allies, were fighting, and losing, a desperate war against the Scarrans. It had been a long war and, although they had inflicted heavy casualties on the Scarrans, who had shown little flair for strategy, their enemies strength in numbers had proven to be overwhelming. Nerrit knew, from the intelligence she had seen, that High Command thought that the Peacekeepers and their allies would collapse within a matter of monens now, their strength too spent to maintain a single, united force. Once that happened, it would just be a matter of time before any isolated pockets of resistance were swept away by the Scarrans and their Charrid allies.

Nerrit shook her head: No, they could not afford to waste a full command carrier on this fools errand. They could not afford for the Vilnash to be out of the fray for so long, and they could not afford to risk such an important warship being lost, should it encounter a stronger Scarran battle group so far away from the support of other members of the fleet. But Nerrit was a consummate Peacekeeper captain: it was not her place to question the orders of her superiors, or of High Command. She turned back to her crew, and raised her voice to cut through the quiet buzz of the conversations of her bridge officers.

'Check every system again: I want our engines, our sensors, our weapons, our Prowlers and Marauders, everything, to be working at maximum efficiency. If anything is less than optimal, fix it, or let me know!' She commanded. Her officers set about their tasks with renewed vigour: They shared Nerrit's concerns about the war and about their own vulnerability, so far from their allies, and so didn't need any explanations as to why she gave the orders that she gave.

Aeryn sat in a cell aboard the Leviathan, trying to suppress the shakes that threatened to tear through her body, revealing her weakness. Since coming aboard, no-one had offered her any violence, but they had not offered her much comfort either. She still wore the human wrist restraints, although they had released her from the ankle restraints aboard the Marauder, whilst it had been rushing into space after their escape from the Earth facility. Olivia sat nearby, John's sister still holding Deke tightly. The boy stirred slightly, but remained silent, clinging to Olivia, sensing somehow that her arms were some sort of a safe haven amongst all of the turmoil that had come upon them.

'When did you get back?' Olivia asked, unsure what to say first after so many years without speaking to Aeryn. She barely registered that Aeryn was dressed in well-worn casual Earth clothes, rather than the Peacekeeper leathers that she had been wearing when they had last been together, in the ruins of Jack Crichton's house.

'Back?' Aeryn replied, with a frown accompanying her quick and quirky single head shake.

'Back to Earth?'

'Olivia….I... I never left.'

'But... but that doesn't make sense. You all left just after the attack on dad's house, I saw it on the TV....'

Aeryn held up her wrists. 'Look at these restraints: Are they Human or Sebacean? Your government,' she re-emphasized the point, as though to a child. 'YOUR people, they didn't want me to leave.'

'That's crazy…'

Aeryn shrugged. 'I was too valuable for them to let me go.'

Olivia sat considering this for a little while, eventually deciding that some sort of apology was in order.

'Aeryn, please, you're my friend, I would never…'

'I know, I'm sorry, it wasn't you. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.' Said Aeryn, quickly trying to move past her own previously accusing manner. It was Holt and his kind who had imprisoned her, not John's sister.

Olivia eased across, closer to where Aeryn was sitting, and enveloped her friend in a hug. Aeryn did not resist, but rather sat there rigidly, desperately trying to process how she should respond. Eventually, Olivia released her, but remained so close that their knees were touching.

'Was it bad?' Olivia asked after a short while, breaking the silence.

'Hmm, not as bad I had had feared. But it was not pleasant, no,' Aeryn replied, brushing aside an uncharacteristic tear from her right cheek. Apart from with Deke, and in recent weekens, a few shared moments with John, it had been so long since anyone had shown her so much compassion. While once she would have hated it, now she found she was nearly overwhelmed.

Deke called from the other side of the cell, where Olivia had left him. There he was busy investigating something that he probably shouldn't.

'Olivia, could you deal with him please?' Aeryn held up her still-manacled wrists slightly in explanation.

'You're still restrained, even in here in this cell …' began Olivia as she headed over to Deke, still too shocked to know quite what to say. Aeryn nodded as Olivia picked up Deke and turned back to face her. 'But I'm not? Why?'

'I was one of them, a Peacekeeper commando,' she nodded towards the door to the cell. 'But I.... deserted. I…. ,' she paused while she considered what to tell Olivia, Smiling slightly, she continued 'That is to say, your brother and I, we have quite a reputation, with my people, for causing trouble.'

'And me?'

Aeryn smiled 'You don't look like much of a threat.'

Olivia laughed and glanced down at herself, every inch a soft, middle-aged civilian. 'I guess not.'

'They don't know who you are, I think, and you must not tell them. For your own safety.' Olivia nodded, seeming to understand. 'But you're right, you're no threat to them.' Aeryn paused before lowering her gaze to the toddler in Olivia's arms. 'Is he alright, I can't check...' she jostled her arms against her handcuffs to illustrate her point. Olivia tenderly turned the child around so mother and son could see each other. He seemed happy enough - if he was hurt or distressed, he'd surely be crying. He locked his piercing blue eyes on his mother, and struggled to the ground to make his way across to Aeryn.

'Momma!' the child said quietly, but insistently as he clung to Aeryn's knee.

'So, is she... he...?'

Aeryn swallowed, struggling to bridge the gap of years to her old friend. 'He's mine. And your brother's.'

Olivia almost fell onto the bench beside Aeryn, her jaw flapping slackly for a microt.

'But, that's not possible.... He's... what..... 18 months? Two years? How have you and John been seeing each other?' she continued, her mouth running ahead of her thoughts.

Aeryn frowned and shook her head, 'Remember, I'm not human. I was carrying Deke when we came to Earth.'

Olivia clapped her hands in glee before she abruptly remembered the dire circumstance the three of them currently found themselves in and calmed down slightly. 'I knew it! And you knew, you both knew, didn't you?'

'Yes,' Aeryn admitted quietly.

Olivia frowned. 'And you didn't say?' she admonished.

'It wasn't my place to. And your brother's intentions were not clear to me.'

'John…..' sighed Olivia. Her expression suggested her brother would be in deep trouble if she ever got to see him again. 'No, they, weren't were they. But why?'

Aeryn shook her head. 'It was complicated: You see, I wasn't sure who the father was until Deke was born.'

Olivia's jaw flapped open and closed for a few seconds, before she allowed herself the slightest, sympathetic smile. 'Ah….' she whispered. 'That would explain…. a lot…' Aeryn nearly laughed, Oh, if only you knew, Olivia, she thought, not knowing who the father was had been the least of their issues back then.

At that moment they were interrupted as Braca entered the cell. He stood over his prize for a moment, smiling in smug triumph, whilst a scattering of PK guards lurked outside to ensure Aeryn's compliance.

'Officer Bishak, take the human woman out while I talk to Sun,' began Braca, rocking triumphantly on his heels.

'Oh, let the human stay, Miklo, she won't understand us and she can entertain the infant, leave us free to talk,' Aeryn replied in Sebacean. Checking that none of the PKs could see the gesture, she turned her head slightly and winked at Olivia. 'Unless you don't want her to see what you're up to,' she finished with a tone of questioning contempt.

Braca seemed somewhat taken aback, and waved the guard away, conceding, 'The human can stay.'

'You can stay if you're quiet and look after Deke,' Aeryn deliberately told Olivia, in English, in order to maintain their subterfuge. Aeryn knew full-well that Olivia had translator microbes, as she had spent so much time in the company of the Moyans years before. Thus Olivia would get to witness whatever Braca had to say.

'Well, I must say, Officer Sun, things have worked out remarkably well today: We had planned just to secure you as leverage, but it seems we have Crichton's….. offspring… also,' Braca crowed.

'So what do you plan on doing next? Now that you have all of this… leverage?' Aeryn replied.

'If Crichton cooperates, if he gives us wormhole weapons, I have the authority from High Command to grant full pardons to you both. I give you my word that neither of you or…. ' Aeryn noted that he could barely bring himself to look upon Deke or refer to him directly. '….Your offspring… will be harmed. On the contrary, our people will owe you a debt of gratitude.'

'Very generous, Miklo. But you assume I wouldn't want to stay on Earth.'

'We know you were a prisoner here, why would you stay?'

'My place is with John now, if he stays here, so will I.' Olivia, realising she was not supposed to understand their conversation, struggled to withhold a gasp at Aeryn's words.

Braca shook his head in incomprehension. 'You were the best pilot on our carrier, Aeryn. You should have made captain by now, at least: Yet you choose the life of a criminal and whore yourself out to this alien….. Why?'

'I became more,' Aeryn replied pointedly.

'Not that I care, anymore, Aeryn, just as long as the human gives as what we want.' Said Braca, apparently not really wishing to understand.

'Whatever you might think, Miklo, I don't believe that John can make a wormhole weapon.' Olivia watched the exchange carefully: There was clearly some history between the two: She made a mental note to ask Aeryn about it later, when they were alone.

'Don't patronise me Officer Sun. We downloaded footage from Talyn, showing what happened at Dam Ba Da.' He said, pulling a holochip from his pocket, he snapped it on to show a brief clip of John's module circling a wormhole and the subsequent devastation enveloping the Scarran Dreadnought. Olivia watched in horror, starting to get the first glimpses of what had changed her brother so much. Then, her surprise was doubled when she turned to see that the short clip had inexplicably reduced Aeryn to tears.

Aeryn shuddered and sank back, deeper into her seat, at the terrible memory, trying unsuccessfully to shield her emotions from both Olivia and Braca. Olivia briefly approached her with a concerned look and an outstretched hand. Aeryn suppressed her emotions and shook her head at Olivia, hoping to signify she should not show that they were close, not in front of Braca. Olivia nodded and sat on alone and in silence. Although she had translator microbes from seven years before, because of all her dealings with the Moyans, she was now dumbstruck by these new revelations about her brother.

'Even if John could still make such a weapon, I'm not sure he could, or would regardless of the pressure you put him under,' Aeryn said, struggling to maintain control over her emotions as the memories of Dam Ba Da threatened to overwhelm her composure once more.

'Then you must persuade him, Officer Sun. I appeal to you as a Sebacean, Whatever you or Crichton may think about the Peacekeepers, you cannot imagine how desperate things have got over the last seven cycles. Your people, the Luxans, the Hynerians, the Delvians, they are all being wiped out by the Scarrans. And,' he indicated Olivia, 'If they find the humans' planet, they will surely barely pause in destroying it.'

'Commandant Braca?' came a slightly distorted voice as his comms suddenly sprung to life.

'Yes?' snapped Braca in reply, stepping away from Aeryn towards the door.

'We have a message from the Vilnash: A Scarren flotilla is converging on their position, they estimate contact in about four arns. Captain Nerrit would like to know when you will be able to return through the wormhole and if you have any other orders?'

'Tell her to hold position and await further instructions, Braca out.' he replied.

'Did you hear that, Officer Sun?' Braca turned and asked her.

'Of course. Where and what is the Vilnash?'

'It's my command carrier: It's guarding the other end of the wormhole.'

'So, what do you plan to do? Just sit out there and lead the Scarrans to Erp?'

'That depends on what the humans decide. But the wormhole opens and closes in cycles: It will reopen, and should be stable enough for Moya to traverse, in about another six arns. I doubt that the Vilnash will be able to hold off a full Scarran flotilla for that long.'

Oh deary me, things just get worse for our heroes, don't they?

But I won't keep you in suspense for more than a few days.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lost and Found, Chapter 6**

The Peacekeepers had left Aeryn, Olivia and Deke alone in their cell while Braca contacted Earth to extend his new terms. Much to both Olivia and Aeryn's surprise, Braca had ordered Aeryn freed from her restraints before he left them. He had described it as a gesture of goodwill, to show that the Peacekeepers meant no harm to her, that they wanted to put their differences behind them. While Aeryn welcomed being free of the restraints, she gave limited credence to Braca's overtures of friendship, noting to Olivia, with her typical bluntness, that despite all of his fine words and gestures, they were still locked in their cell.

Once the footsteps of the last Peacekeeper had faded away down the corridor, Olivia wasted no time in pumping her friend for gossip.

'So, Aeryn,' Olivia began, with a furtive smile. 'What's the story with you and this guy Braca, then?'

Aeryn frowned, innocent regarding the complexity and subtexts that a human such as Olivia might have in mind with such a question. Although her captors had not deprived Aeryn of all human entertainment during her long incarceration, her tastes had not extended to what she still sometimes disparaged as 'all that emotional dren.' She had leant more towards stories about police procedures or military engagements. In her naivety, and not knowing what she might have been expected to reply to the sister of a man she had been involved with, she responded with the blunt candour that she would have used had she been addressing one of her old comrades in the regiment.

'Hmmm, when we were younger, we spent a lot of time in the same units. Actually, I think we might have recreated once or twice. I errm….. can't remember.' Olivia's jawed flapped once or twice in response. She wasn't quite sure what Aeryn had meant by the word recreated, but she could hazard a good guess. She hadn't been expecting her brother's supposed ex-girlfriend to give her a blunt and candid confession regarding sleeping with an entirely different man, far less for her to not even remember if she had slept with him or not. It made Olivia wonder for a moment just how many men Aeryn had been with, that she couldn't remember them all.

Olivia cleared her throat. 'Oh, right, erm…' More than a little embarrassed, she decided to try a different conversational gambit. 'So, who are these Scarrans he was talking about then?'

Aeryn shuddered. 'They are aggressive, militaristic, xenophobic…'

'Erm, nothing like Peacekeepers, then?' Olivia suggested, her voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, not wishing to upset or worse, anger her friend, but unable to resist the obvious comparison.

Aeryn didn't seem offended. She simply explained in her matter of fact way, as though she were delivering a lecture to a cadet: 'No. A Scarran would never sit with you and be your friend: Scarrans would not stay in orbit round your planet and talk to your government. If they find Erp, any of you that they do not kill they will enslave. Even the Peacekeepers struggle to fight them, to contain them. They would quickly destroy or enslave your Erp.'

Olivia went a little pale. 'Oh. Sorry I asked….' she replied. Olivia felt quite deflated now. She remembered struggling to connect with Aeryn before, but nothing this bad. In fact, most of the time, when the Moyans were on Earth, she had found it easier to relate to the dark haired woman, with her earnest honesty, than she had her evasive brother. Olivia desperately wanted to talk with her friend. She so wanted to share something with her, to escape from their current dire predicament. She knew that if she did so it would only be for a moment, and only through the pleasure of company, but it would be something, a distraction at the least. However, as her last two efforts had gone so badly, she was now temporarily flummoxed.

Something in Aeryn seemed to snap: she stood and lashed out against the cell door, shaking it with all her might.

'I shouldn't be locked up like this. How can I protect Deke, or you, or anyone else like this?' she railed. 'Between Braca and that fekkik Holt…..!'

'T.R. Holt? Are you saying Holt was involved in your…..?' Olivia asked in shock. Somehow, it didn't seem that she and Aeryn would be spending their time together talking about the normal things like jobs, holidays, recipes and the like.

'Yes, but, well, you see there's no way I can get revenge on him or the others,' Aeryn replied, her stoicism impressing Olivia. 'Not now.' Aeryn added to herself, giving the door one last, impotent shake before turning back to rejoin Olivia and Deke.

'Well,' smiled Olivia, touching Aeryn's arm in one of her characteristic mannerisms, 'Maybe there is something….' She rustled through her bag, eventually pulling out a small metallic box. 'Ah, there it is!'

'What is that?' Asked Aeryn with a perplexed frown.

'My mobile,' Olivia explained. Or at least, she thought she had explained until she realised that Aeryn was still looking at her, waiting to hear what Olivia was thinking.

'Meaning?' Aeryn gave a little half shake of her head to signify she had no idea what Olivia might mean by that.

'We can make a little movie on it, and, if and when I get home, we can spill your story.'

The realisation dawned on Aeryn that, at long last, here might be some chance, no matter how remote, that she might get some sort of revenge on her human tormentors. A smile crept across her face and she bit her bottom lip.

'You can send it to that frehlnik, Munroe, the one who interviewed me. I did not like him,' She remarked as she remembered that oh-so-painful interview. Never mind, she could use him now. 'He could make something of this.' Then her face fell sad again as the reality of their predicament crept back into her thoughts. 'If we ever get you home.'

Ignoring that last, despondent remark, Olivia nodded. She agreed with Aeryn's assessment of Munroe. The documentaries that he had made had aired about six months after Aeryn had left. Or rather, after everyone had thought she had left. Poor Aeryn, Olivia thought, she had probably sat through those documentaries during her imprisonment, unable to reply to all the accusations regarding her and her friends. She knew that John, who was quite lucid back in those days, had been incandescent with rage when the programmes had been broadcast. Olivia had thought the programmes to be disgusting, but Munroe was just the sort of reporter to take a story like this, dig up some more dirt, and then make it all very public. He was the sort of man who she thought would do anything to advance his reputation.

Aeryn and Olivia both knew they might not have much time before Braca or another Peacekeeper returned, so Aeryn quickly composed her thoughts and straightened her hair and clothing.

'I'm ready,' she told Olivia.

Olivia pressed some buttons, held up her phone and replied 'Go!'

'Hello, Mr Munroe, this is Aeryn Sun. do you remember me?' She briefly lifted Deke into camera shot. 'Say hello to Mr Munroe, Deke.' Deke waved and smiled into the camera. 'He is mine and John's son. Does _that _answer your burning question?' Lowering Deke out of camera shot she continued. 'I was pregnant when you interviewed me, by the way. Pregnancy is different for Sebaceans, well, for Peacekeepers like me, and he was only born last year. Anyway, I have an even bigger story for you. That Christmas, I did not leave Erp. I was drugged and kidnapped by officials from your government, led by Mr T.R. Holt. At that time Mr Holt was special advisor to your president. For the last seven years I have been held a prisoner, in secret. Apart from interrogating me, they have conducted medical experiments on me and then on my son. They kept most of the details of their conspiracy secret from me, but I know of one place they used, and where you should start looking for evidence. It was a supposed clinic for military veterans, located on the 12th floor and above of the…….'

Olivia smiled as Aeryn continued with her tale: This was something to give both women some hope for the future, despite their current desperate straits. All they needed now was some miracle to get them out of here and back to Earth, and with her phone intact and in her possession. Olivia had to confess to herself, though, that she would happily sacrifice her phone and the message they were recording on it to escape from her current predicament.

* * *

'Right, Crichton,' Holt began as he hurried into the Spartan room where John was being held. From his flustered appearance, Holt was clearly having a bad day although John couldn't honestly say that he felt any sympathy for T.R. 'The situation has just got much more serious.'

'Yeah, right, Bob,' mocked John. 'They making you buy your own suits now?'

Holt fixed John with a serious gaze: 'The Peacekeepers say that there is a Scarran armada headed for the other side of the Earth wormhole. They want you up there now, to make them a weapon to defeat them, to protect Earth and as a condition of them trying to draw off the Scarrans.'

John wandered the room, deep in agitated thought, displaying a full range of physical tics, before kicking a waste paper bin in disgust. He sighed and turned to Holt.

'Listen T.R. for the seventy ninth time, I cant make a wormhole weapon, no matter what they think, no matter what you think.'

'Then we're so screwed…'

They both stood in silence for a while, Holt hoping that John would crack and tell him that he would reveal the secret of wormhole weapons, Crichton trying to work out what the options might be and then, what he should tell Holt of those options. Eventually, Crichton sat at the interview table between them and then broke the silence.

'But……….. maybe I can shut the wormhole, protect Earth.'

'Go on,' replied Holt, his interest piqued. He joined John at the table and pulled out a notepad and pen.

'I reckon I can seal Earth off, from all of them, for good.' Holt raised an eyebrow and tapped his pen on his pad. 'Would you trade me to the Peacekeepers for that? It's a small price, for you, 'cause I can't give you or them anything else.'

'Hmmm. And what would be in this for you?'

John shrugged: 'People I love don't get killed by Scarrans. Plus, there's the small matter that the PKs have my sister, they have Aeryn, they have my son. Trust me, I'm a doctor. You wont be giving them anything you can use if you give me to them, but you will be protecting Earth if I can shut that wormhole.'

'But what if they're lying about the Scarrans?'

John laughed at that. 'I'm working on the assumption you're all lying,' he replied. Holt scowled at him. 'Scarrans or not, our choices are getting limited here, we're circling the drain. Think through the options, T.R. and tell me, do you have a better plan?'

Holt shook his head and tossed his pen down on the notepad. 'We're not letting you go, Crichton: We're not giving your wormhole knowledge to them.'

John sighed deeply, then fixed Holt with an icy stare. He knew his plans usually sucked, but why couldn't Holt see that, as far as they went, this one was a no-brainer?

'First point, no matter what you believe, I don't have any wormhole weapon knowledge. Second point, you have to let me go, because if you don't, and they really are on their way, the Scarrans will destroy Earth, and I'm the only person who can stop them. Think about it, Holt. But don't take too long.'

Holt stood and paced up and down. 'I don't trust the Peacekeepers….'

'Very wise. Join the club. But it's irrelevant. Look, get Braca on the phone, then ask Aeryn, or their Pilot, about the Scarrans. They wont lie.'

'Are you sure?'

'It's the best verification you're gonna get.'

Holt frowned and pondered what to do. What was the matter with the man, John wondered, why did he have such trouble grasping what had to be done? Perhaps it was all a lie, and he was still playing John to try to get wormhole weapon knowledge from him, John wondered. John had to call his bluff: He had no other options. If Holt was lying about the Scarrans, he wouldn't hand him over to the PKs anyway, so

John had nothing to lose.

'Ask yourself, Holt: which is worse: If you give me to the PKs, I cant give them squat, so what have you lost? Believe me, I've no more desire to let the PKs have a wormhole weapon than you do, so you can trust me on that. Or will you risk the Scarrans coming here, to Earth?'

John watched Holt as he seemed to wrestle with the dilemma before him. If he was bluffing, he was a fine actor, and, if he was not lying, John was slightly surprised to find that he was getting some slight enjoyment from Holt's discomfort. 'Your turn to choose, T.R. What's it to be?'

Aeryn stood on Moya's command, a few steps behind Braca, watching him as he preened and strutted in front of the centre console, waiting for the Erplings to come on line.

It was a shock to find herself back on Moya's command after all these cycles. She was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that they had released her not just from her restraints, but now from her cell, too. But then it had been a most extraordinary half an arn: Braca had returned to the cell, where she was being held with Olivia and Deke, and immediately told her that she was now free to move around the ship, as long as she was escorted. Then he had asked, yes, asked, not demanded, that she accompany him to the Pilot's den. Once there she had mostly listened, almost without question, whilst Pilot, with occasional inputs from Braca, had briefed her on the current political and military situation back home. Braca had insisted she needed this briefing, and that she needed to hear it from Pilot, in order that she might better understand what was happening. And, of course,, that she might trust them. In one important regard, Braca had been right: It was only Pilot aboard Moya from whom she would believe what she had been told.

'I have the humans on the communications channel again,' came Pilot's voice.

'Put them on, Pilot,' Braca replied, his voice as level and proper as his stance.

'Commandant Braca?' General McReady, who was leading the call for the humans, greeted him over the communications link.

'I'm waiting, go ahead,' Braca replied, forcing them to make the running in this game. It was not his planet at risk from the Scarrans here.

'Hey, Mr Burns, how's it hanging with you?' John quipped at Braca. McReady and his human cohorts glowered and stared at John. He was supposed to keep his mouth shut unless a question was specifically directed at him.

Braca muttered something dismissive in response, before continuing. 'Your time is running short, humans. Need I remind you that the Scarran threat is very real and very imminent?'

'We are well aware of what you claim, but so far, we only have your word for it,' said another general.

'And we have a trust issue, after your attack on our facility,' added another human, a civilian this time.

Braca shrugged off the accusation.

'That is your problem. I suggest you overcome it.'

'Look Braca, they're ready to deal, but first we want you to patch in Aeryn and the pilot of your leviathan: Straight away, so there can be no deceptions,' insisted John. Aeryn smiled a faint, half smile: Clearly, she was out of sight of all of the humans, John included: None of them, not even John, realised that she was there, on Moya's command. She was looking forward to seeing the responses from them all when she appeared and gave her contributions to the discussion.

Braca merely harrumphed, turned and motioned for Aeryn to join him.

'Officer Sun,' Braca called. 'Pilot?' he continued. Pilot appeared on the clamshell and on the humans' screen. 'I take it you both heard the conversation so far?'

'I did indeed, Commandant,' came the Pilot's voice, it's soft, reassuring sound seeming so familiar to John, but, as with Braca, incomprehensible to the few humans on the call without translator microbes.

'Pilot?' John asked uncertainly: Was this really his own Pilot? Was this really Moya? How could this be? How could they have aligned themselves with Braca and the Peacekeepers?

'Pilot, is that you, is that really Moya?'

'Indeed it is, Commander. Both Moya and I are very pleased to hear you once again. And, to answer your unspoken questions, Moya and I are here voluntarily, without a control collar or any other coercion. Moreover, we are in agreement with Commandant Braca's assessment of the situation. Your planet is in immediate danger from the Scarrans. We have also briefed Officer Sun on the situation we face on the other side of the wormhole.'

At that moment Aeryn, clearly out of any restraints, arrived at Braca's side on Moya's command.

'Aeryn, baby!' John called out.

'John,' Aeryn replied in English, her voice blank and emotionless. She was uneasy about receiving, far less returning, any display of affection in front of so many assorted strangers, former comrades and antagonists.

'Are you… Are you all… well?' John asked.

'I'm fine, John, as is Deke and the female human they took with us. In fact, High Command have offered both you and I pardons, and more, if we cooperate with them.' Again, she spoke in English. She knew her role here was to convince the oomans of what was going on, and she would more likely be understood by more of them speaking English than Sebacean. After seven years on Earth, her English was now more than up to the challenge.

'And you _trust _them?' John asked.

'More than yesterday,' Aeryn shrugged, pushing her hair back and, in so doing, showing once again, should any of the oomans have missed it, that she was not physically restrained.

'OK, both of you? What's the deal with these Scarrans?' John asked.

The visual feed again switched to Pilot, his large eyes inspiring trust in John, if not so much in the other humans present on the call. 'A Scarran flotilla is approaching the other side of the wormhole, Commander. From communications with the command carrier which is stationed there as a guard, I estimate that the Scarrans will arrive there in one point six arns. The wormhole is currently not traversable, but will reopen in about four arns.'

'The command carrier will not be able to hold off the Scarrans for that long.' Braca interjected.

'Everything I have heard agrees with what Pilot has said, John,' confirmed Aeryn. The Scarrans will be

here in a few arns… hours.' she explained, for the benefit of any humans who did not understand Pilot or Braca.

'So, what is it to be, humans? Your time is running out,' Braca reminded them.

Cutting the audio transmission for a few microts, the humans entered a brief huddle. When they emerged from their discussions, and resumed the audio feed, McReady spoke for them.

'You leave us no options, Braca, we will release Crichton to you, provided you do all in your power to avert this Scarran threat.'

'Hey, not so fast, everyone,' Cricthton interrupted. 'I'll agree to come up, tell you everything I know, but you have to bring your prisoners down on the ship that comes to get me. Aeryn and Deke, too, if that's what Aeryn wants. That's non-negotiable.' More than one human looked annoyed at Crichton for imposing his own conditions on their deal, no matter how harmless and sensible those conditions might be.

'If you're coming up, John, I'll be waiting on Moya for you,' Aeryn said, to the surprise of many, but no longer to the surprise of Pilot or Braca. 'Right now, I trust Pilot and Braca a lot more than I do your people.'

* * *

Less than three quarters of an hour later, John waited in the empty car park of the isolated base where Aeryn, and most recently he, had been held. He was agitated and unable to stand still. He just wanted this over with, to find out what nasty surprises fate had waiting for him this time. Around John stood a scattering of a score of agents and soldiers, Holt amongst them. John had nothing to say to him. Nothing that was constructive. He could see that his fidgeting was making some of his companions nervous, but, hell, what did they have to be nervous about, compared to him?

John carried a small holdall, with a handful of items which he had snurched and thrown together in the few hours since his it seemed possible that he would be leaving: Some spare clothes, notepads, pens, a couple of jars of coffee, a pile of chocolate bars. He had managed to secure a dictation machine earlier that day and then, in a snatched moment of privacy, he had recorded a quick personal message on it. To his further surprise, he had then managed to sneak it into the internal mail while he was kept waiting for five minutes in an office area. He could only hope it would reach it's destination: He had to hope, he had to try. It might be his last chance to speak to those he loved on Earth.

'Is that it?' a black-suited-and-tied agent called out, pointing upwards. John could see nothing. But then, the agent had binoculars to help him see.

'Yes, that's them,' confirmed another agent, his hand to his ear, so revealing that he was getting his information from somewhere else. 'Three ships coming down, fast.'

Within microts, a single dot in the sky grew first into a block, then three blocks. Then those blocks resolved into the squat, angry form of a Marauder, accompanied by two darting Prowlers. A few microts later, and the Marauder settled to the ground, like some giant, angry metal bee, while the Prowlers lurked, providing protection and early warning of any human treachery, about a thousand feet up.

A portal opened in the belly of the Marauder and three black-helmeted Peacekeepers dropped to the ground in quick succession, spreading out to cover every angle with their pulse rifles from the cover of the Marauder's landing gear. Then two more figures descended: a further, helmet-less commando holding a nervous looking woman, who was clearly not a PK, by her elbow. The pair walked a few paces towards Crichton's group before stopping.

'Send Crichton over!' the helmetless Peacekeeper ordered.

'Your hostage first!' shouted Holt in reply. This pissing contest could go on all day, John thought, and all the while the Scarrans are getting closer. We don't have time for this.

'We'll set off together, count of three,' John responded, trying to break the stalemate. Before either side could disagree, he called out 'One, Two, Three!' and stepped forwards. After a microt, the Peacekeeper commander nodded and shoved Olivia towards him. She stumbled, looked back at the Peacekeepers, clearly aggrieved at them over something, then looked forwards towards the human group. She strode forwards, heading straight for John.

John and Olivia met half way between the Marauder and the group of humans. They stopped, facing each other, close enough to touch.

'Livvy.'

'John.'

'You're looking well.'

'You too.'

'Were Aeryn and Deke OK, when you left?' Olivia nodded, her chin quivering with a dam of pent up emotions, about to burst.

Olivia began nervously pulling at one of the fingers of her right hand. Abruptly she stepped forward and embraced her brother, who dropped his holdall and returned the hug, tears welling up in both their eyes.

'I love you, John.'

'Love you too, little sis,' John replied, as they both struggled, and failed, to hold back their tears. 'Tell Caroline, Sarah, Dad, Susan……'

'What's going on! Keep walking forward!' Called the Peacekeeper commander, clearly agitated at the unscheduled rendezvous and consequent delay.

'Tell them all I love them,' John finished. 'That I'm doing this to keep you all safe.'

Olivia took a step backwards, gave a single nod, brushed a tear aside and grabbed John's hand. With her left hand she forced something small and hard into his palm, closing his hand into a fist before he could look at it.

'For you, both of you. You'll know…...' She flashed him a brief, forced smile.

'Walk on NOW!' bellowed the helmetless peacekeeper, levelling his pulse rifle at them. John brushed Olivia's cheek, 'I gotta go,' he said. Stooping to lift his holdall, he stepped past her, reaching the PK line within another 50 paces, only then daring to look back. Olivia was safely in the circle of humans. As John was stepped into the shadow of the Marauder, their gazes locked for the briefest moment, and then she was gone from his sight, as he was pulled aboard the ship.

All the way to the Marauder, John had kept his hand clenched, and it was only once he was aboard the ship, and he could feel them heading skywards and his guards' attention had drifted from him, that he dared glance at what Olivia had pushed into his palm.

It was his mother's ring. Trying not to draw attention, he slipped it onto his little finger for safe temporary keeping.

* * *

When John got to Moya he was not surprised, although he was a little disappointed, to find that his only welcoming committee was yet another group of Peacekeeper guards. Without major ceremony, but also without restraints, which John took as a very encouraging sign, the waiting guard detail took responsibility for him from the Marauder crew. His new guards escorted him at a rapid pace through Moya's golden corridors towards, John deduced, the central chamber.

When John arrived at the central chamber, most of his guards waited outside, with only the sub-officer in charge of the detail staying with him, escorting him inside. In the chamber, John saw Braca sitting opposite Aeryn, who was busy juggling a happily gurgling Deke on her knee. The adults seemed to have been chatting, if not like old friends, at least not like old enemies. Both Aeryn and Braca looked up as John was led in, whilst John's escort snapped snapped to attention and then backed out of the chamber.

'Sit, Crichton,' Braca insisted, indicating the seat beside Aeryn. He did not bother with standing himself. To John's slight surprise, Braca seemed quite at ease being alone in the chamber with a criminal, a renegade…. And a toddler. But then, John thought, Braca did have his side arm to help him deal with any unexpected misbehaviours from any of his three prisoners. 'There's much to discuss and we don't have much time.'

'Isn't it always about time?' John remarked casually as he sat. If Braca and Aeryn could be 'cool' then so could he.

'No doubt you have been wondering why we have gone to so much trouble to come and get you?'

'No, not really,' John said with a grim frown. Then, more flippantly, he added, 'You couldn't bear to be without my good looks and winning personality, could you?'

'Don't flatter yourself, ooman.' Braca replied, missing the humour entirely. 'Unlike some of your erstwhile companions, you have done nothing yet to redeem yourself. High Command still regards you both of you as dangerous fugitives and Sun as a traitor.'

'But I have something you want?' John suggested. 'But why the sudden interest in us, after so long?'

'Much has happened in the last seven cycles,' Braca replied with a shrug.

'So, Bob, do we get the short history?' John was adamant that Braca was going to have to give him some exposition if he wanted him to be more cooperative.

'We don't have time for that: Suffice to say, I am authorised to offer you and Sun full pardons. I am even willing to offer Officer Sun, the opportunity to return to the service with a promotion and offer you, Crichton, a senior role in the Peacekeeper Military Tech division. We need good officers.'

'Very generous,' sneered Crichton. 'But, let me guess, only if I clear up your overgrown-iguana problem for you?'

'Braca, you must tell him some of what you told me, if he is to trust you,' said Aeryn softly, laying a calming hand on John's arm. She had already heard some of the details of what they had missed over the last seven cycles, and had begun to understand how Moya had come to ally herself with the Peacekeepers in their mission to recover Crichton. 'Hear him out John,' she finished.

Braca pulled his tunic down by the hem to straighten it, not that it really needed straightening

'Very well, perhaps he needs to know some of what has been happening.'

'Shee, yeah. That'd help.'

Braca took a deep breath, than a drink from the beaker in front of him, and then began. 'Half a cycle after you disappeared, the Scarrans attacked the Peacekeepers, as Scorpius predicted. Their numbers where overwhelming,' Braca looked from John to Aeryn and back again, willing them to believe him and not waste time asking for too many details. He needn't have worried. John was all too aware that they were on a schedule that was not their own. 'We have only managed to prevent them from completely wiping us out by allying ourselves with others who were also threatened: the Luxans, the Hynerians and, even, most recently the Royal Colonies.'

Crichton snorted, 'Your story touches me, here, Braca,' he said, not entirely convincingly, as he tapped his chest.

'John!' Aeryn scolded.

'Ask Moya's Pilot, if you wish, Crichton. The Sebacean people,' he paused and loked straight at Aeryn, 'Are on the brink of extinction, and your daughter by Princess Katralla,' now he turned to Crichton, 'Will likely soon be part of some Scarran experiment if we can do nothing to stop their advance.'

'How did you come by Moya?' interrupted Crichton, sharply, still far from convinced, and wishing to test Braca's back-story by probing a random detail. Braca seemed unconcerned by the question, which in turn comforted John.

'Three monens ago my Command Carrier relieved a Luxan outpost, which was under attack from a Charrid fleet. Moya was acting as a supply ship for the outpost and an old associate of yours was amongst the Luxans that we took off. He told us where to find you: Indeed, it was his idea that you might be able to help us.'

'D'Argo!?' John exclaimed.

'Yes,' whispered Aeryn, her face a Peacekeeper mask, hiding her emotions.

'So is he here, on Moya? I want to see him!' John pressed on, oblivious both to the Luxan's obvious absence at this meeting and Aeryn's composed, Peacekeeper demeanour.

Braca shook his head. 'He had been badly injured in the battle with the Charrids. He was a brave warrior, though: He survived long enough to guide us through the wormhole to Erp, but that was all: I think that helping us find you was the only thing that kept him alive so long. He died over three weekens ago, from his wounds.'

Aeryn leant in to Crichton, seeking and giving comfort from the contact. From the expression of distaste which came on his face, both John and Aeryn could see that Braca was struggling to cope with the sight of such intimacy between the former Peacekeeper officer and an alien.

Controlling his emotions, and focussing on the matter at hand, Braca continued: 'Crichton, our only hope, the only hope of every species, including your own, now lies in you making a wormhole weapon to stop the Scarrans.'

John sighed. How many times did he have to explain? It was getting tiresome.

'No matter what you believe, I can't make a wormhole weapon. Hell, if I did, I might just tell you how right now. I might even make one for you. But I don't and I can't.'

'Then we are frelled,' Braca said, with genuine regret. 'As will be your home planet when the Scarrans arrive.'

John sighed again, the gesture both deep and despondent. He pulled Aeryn and Deke close to him in a one-armed hug. It was time to level with Braca: With the Scarrans so close, and getting closer by the microt, there was no more time for obfuscation.

'But I might be able to do something.' Braca looked up, his interest suddenly rushing back. He was so like Holt in that regard, John thought to himself. The two of them would have gotten on famously. He almost laughed to himself at the thought. 'I might be able to collapse the wormhole, seal the Earth off, protect it from the Scarrans.'

'How?' Braca asked.

'We need to take Moya through the wormhole to do it, when it reopens.'

'Through the wormhole?'

'Yeah, that's right. At best, even if we make it through to the other side, it's a one way trip. You and your Peacekeepers could stay on Earth – take your chances with my people – or come with us. But you know what we'll be going back to.'

'That will take us back to where the Scarrans will be!' Braca replied, shocked. 'It'd be suicide!'

'Yeah, back to where the Scarrans will be waiting. At best it's a one way trip.' John glanced at Aeryn, and had another thought. 'But at worst, it'd be an end worthy of your best Peacekeeper ideals.'

Braca stood and paced up and down in front of John and Aeryn, deep in thought, trying to decide what to do.

'I cannot condemn my crew to death by sanctioning this!'

'But you've got to let me do it, with Moya, otherwise the only difference for you is that the Scarrans will kill your people at this end of the wormhole rather than the other. Anyway, maybe you have a choice. You could take your chances with the wormhole and the Scarrans, or take your chances staying here, on Earth.'

'I'm sure the Erp-lings will be very hospitable,' Aeryn interjected with the hint of a smile as she continued playing with Deke. Braca stopped pacing and stared at her. His whole manner made it clear that he could not understand how Aeryn could be so calm facing such a terrible choice.

'But you need to decide right now,' John insisted. 'My plan won't wait: We need to do it when the wormhole begins to reopen, or all bets are off. In the meantime, I need to talk to Pilot, and with Aeryn, to work out the details.'

'Very well,' said Braca. 'Sub-Officer Derash!' he called out. A fresh face boy, barely more than a cadet, entered the chamber and stood at attention. 'Escort our guests to the Pilot's chamber.' Then Braca turned back to Aeryn and John. 'Go. I need to talk to my crew. They deserve to decide for themselves what their fate will be.' As he went to leave, John and Aeryn stood, Aeryn tucking Deke in close on her hip. Aeryn called after Braca, causing him to pause in the doorway to hear her out.

'Tell the Vilnash to leave, Miklo: It can do no good waiting there: Don't waste their lives or the ship. And, perhaps, if it leaves, then it will draw the Scarrans away from the wormhole.'

Braca turned and nodded in apparent agreement.

'I told you you would've made captain by now, Aeryn. At least,' Braca said, and then he was gone.

'Are you going to tell them?' Aeryn asked John, as they made their way through Moya's ribbed corridors towards Pilot's den. Deke giggled and played with his mother's hair as they walked, whilst a scared looking Sub-Officer Derash followed at a careful distance.

'Tell them what?' John asked with a grin.

Aeryn glared at him. 'The truth about what you're going to do.'

John looked at her frustrated expression and laughed. He had to admit that she could read him, and wormholes, so well. Better than anyone. 'Hell no, If they're coming with us, I want to know it is for the right reasons.'

* * *

The golden halls of Moya had gone quiet, had been so for the last quarter arn. John and Aeryn stood together on command, alone now apart from Deke. The youngster was balanced in front of them on the console which held the manual pilot controls whilst Pilot's serene face gazed on them from the clamshell.

The time to act was upon them.

'Twenty microts until Moya and I estimate that the space-time bubble begins to expand from the proto-wormhole, Commander,' Pilot informed them. The plan was simple: Using Pilots's superior senses and coordination, Moya would enter the wormhole as it's event horizon reached it's apex, causing the wormhole to fold in on itself and so collapse. Moya and her passengers would then be committed to traversing the wormhole to the other side as it died around them, or, as they hoped, a little behind them.

Even as John could sense the wormhole forming in front of Moya, he could feel the equilibrium of the mighty leviathan change as she began to plunge forwards into destiny.

Deke laughed in unexplained excitement at his parents as they stood before him, his mother's right hand gripping the pilot's control, while his father wrapped his hand around hers. Together, they each reached out their free hand to hold their son steady.

Moya gave the briefest shudder as she burst through the event horizon of the wormhole.

'Transferring control to you now…..' Aeryn and John heard Pilot say, even as they felt the control stick stiffen and begin to buck, in feedback, beneath their combined grip. This was going to be a rough ride, even by wormhole standards.

They entered the wormhole, and it's electric blue skein began to fold in around them. Moya shook violently, worse than any of them would have expected had this been just been a normal wormhole traverse. But, of course, there was nothing normal about this trip. Amidst the mayhem, the flash of an unbidden memory came to John. As he struggled to keep focussed on their intended destination, a vision filled his head from his last trip down a wormhole. Down this very wormhole, he realised: It was a construction of the Ancient, Einstein, who was telling him:

'If events are matched closely enough to course…'

Then, in his mind's eye, John saw Caroline finish, 'They have a way of restructuring themselves to familiar outcomes.'

With a lurch, Moya emerged from the collapsing wormhole into Tormented Space. Without relinquishing their grip on either Deke or on each other's hands, which were still entwined and clasped around the control column, John and Aeryn turned their heads to look into each other's eyes. They could each feel the heat of the other's proximity. The turbulence in the wormhole had caused them to move closer to each other, and now their bodies were pressed into each other along almost their entire length, as though each was holding up the other. Leaning their heads forwards for the final denches between them, their foreheads, then their lips met briefly. The they turned as one towards the view portal, to face the fate they had chosen.

* * *

**Epilogue:**

Caroline carried her morning mail and her newspaper through to her den. She had not slept well last night, not after the police had come to break the news to her about John. She was grateful that their daughter, Sarah, had slept through it all, and that she had not been upset by seeing her mother in such a state.

As Caroline glanced at the stories in her newspaper, she was reminded of her loss once again, not that she needed reminding: Amongst the unusual number of silly-season stories about UFO sightings in the paper was the headline 'Ex-astronaut, seven others, thought lost in fire.' Caroline cursed herself. If only she hadn't checked him into that damn clinic, he wouldn't have been caught in the fire. He wouldn't be dead. She couldn't bear to read the story, to find out who the other seven unfortunates might be.

She took a sip from her coffee, sighed, tossed aside the paper and looked at her mail. She had one package, a medium sized jiffy bag with something small and solid inside it, shaped like a phone or a TV remote. She looked at the address, then slumped, shocked, into the nearest chair: It was John's handwriting. With shaking hands, she ripped the envelope open and tipped out the contents. A dictation machine tumbled out into her lap. Typical John, she thought: Use something complicated, when a simple written note would have done. With an aching heart, she rewound the tape, pausing before she could summon the strength to listen to whatever it contained. It was almost certainly John's last message to her, made more poignant by the fact that he would not have known that it was to be his last. She pressed play, hearing John's familiar voice, even as her eyes misted over with tears.

Caroline was shocked by the words, when they came. It was not a personal message to her after all, just some of John's random blatherings, which, for some reason, he had sent to her. She rewound and started again. Whatever he had been thinking, he had wanted her to have this, to hear this.

'My name is John Crichton. I used to be an astronaut. Eleven years ago I got shot through a wormhole into a distant part of the universe, where I found myself on a living ship crewed by aliens who became my friends. Seven years ago another accident brought me back to Earth. I decided to stay, to try to protect those I love from the horrors I'd seen. I was wrong, by staying I ended up bringing that danger to those I love. Besides, Earth has shown that it is not ready to share in the wonders I've seen. Our leaders have betrayed me and my friends. Now, the Earth is at risk from space, and the hostile aliens I have led here. This is my mess, and I'll fix it. I'm going to fly into the wormhole and collapse it, seal off Earth. This time, I hope I have made the right choice and that I will succeed in protecting those I love. Caroline, Sarah, Susan, Livvy, dad, all of you. I need you to know that I've done what I've done to protect you all. I hope it's enough this time: I hope you'll all be safe now.'

There was a brief pause, and some unidentified background noise, before John's voice continued.

'Now, for my little secret: Everyone thinks we are going to our deaths at the hands of the Scarrans. I believe not: The wormhole may only have one mouth at Earth, but there are many exits, to different times, different places, different realities. There is no one fate that has to be. Look upwards, and hope. I hear them coming… Gotta go. I love you all.' With a click, the tape went silent.

Caroline slumped deeper into her chair, trying to hold back the tears: She looked through the door to where she could see their daughter, Sarah, was playing. She was too young to understand even the most simple story her mother could contrive about her father. Not that Caroline herself knew what to think or what to say right now. What was true any more? What was lies? What was madness? All she knew for certain was that her John was gone.

The End.

Thank you all for reading.

**Author's notes:**

Thanks to those who've given me feedback, encouragement and reviews. And a big thanks to Ixchup for encouraging me to turn my original sub-1000-worder into something much bigger: This really wouldn't have been written without her.

I know I've left some massive loose ends flapping around, along with a fair slug of ambiguity, but wouldn't you rather have it that way? I know I would, and I'm doing the writing, so you'll have to live with it. Perhaps just for now, though? Over on TF, where it is also posted, I seem to have an extra 'Saved for Future Chapters' slot. Hmmm.

This story began life as a short and rather vivid dream, which then turned into my first ever FanFic (The Picture In The Paper) , and then, under encouragement, just kept growing. However, it has reached a point where I feel I want to put it to bed. If I get enough ideas, from further beer-and-pizza induced dreams or from reader feedback, I may write a sequel someday and tie up some of those loose ends, but that would be a whole different story.

For now, if it was ever real and not just the ramblings of a madman prior to his untimely death in an unfortunate fire, John is out of his asylum, Aeryn is out of her prison and I feel it's time for me to move on to one or other of another couple of longer stories that have been festering in my noggin for the last few months. Any volunteers to beta-read? Unlike this story, I don't have an end worked out from the start for either of them, so I may need to consume some marguerita shooters and cheese before bedtime to inspire me.


	7. Author's afterword

I've had discussions with people, mainly over on Terrafirma, about how this story ended. While I thought that I had the main story arc satisfactorily concluded, and all I had left dangling were some secondary plots, some readers disagree. So I have story arcs both on Earth and in deep space to tie up to keep readers happy, and no ideas at present as to how to do this.

OK, so not a chapter, but a statement of intent: I will spend time over the summer thinking about the ending of this story with the intent of providing more of an ending, both to the main arc and to the subplots. This will probably be in the form of a sequel. I've no ideas at the moment, but late night cheese is a wonderful thing. Plus, let me know if you have any thoughts, as it might kick start an idea for me.


End file.
